


Purity

by WolfAndHound_Archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Denial, Drama, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-05
Updated: 2016-02-05
Packaged: 2018-05-18 10:00:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5924191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfAndHound_Archivist/pseuds/WolfAndHound_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Sirius resurrection fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Lassenia, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Wolf and Hound](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Wolf_and_Hound), which was created to make stories posted to the Sirius_Black_and_Remus_Lupin Yahoo! mailing list easier to find. However, even though I still love the fandom, I am no longer active in it and do not have the time to maintain it. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in December 2015. I posted an announcement with Open Doors, but we may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Wolf and Hound collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/wolfandhound/profile).

Through the Veil

He fell forever. At least, it seemed to take a long time, long enough for him to start wondering how many bones would break when he hit the ground. But, there was no sensation of speed, a realization both curious and disturbing. He knew he was falling. Shouldn’t the force of gravity be acting on the mass of his body to speed things up a bit? Was this a good time to think about physics? 

Someone yelled his name.

And then he was at rest, lying on cold, hard stone. This felt all too wrenchingly familiar. His cell in Azkaban felt like this. He scrambled to his feet. It was pitch dark. His wand was gone. He crouched to look for it, cautiously running his fingertips over the unforgiving stone.

Suddenly, he heard whispering voices ahead of him in the blackness. He froze, the hair on the back of his neck rising. He strained to understand the words. Behind him, someone still yelled. Screamed. Harry! That was Harry’s voice, screaming his name as if his life depended on it. Sirius spun around and saw dim light seeping through a veil hanging across an archway. The veil was vaguely familiar. He leapt towards it, responding instinctually to Harry’s cries.

“No!” A voice ordered sharply. He stopped short, surprising himself. This was not a command that often had an effect on him. A figure glimmered before him, appearing out of nowhere, tall, willowy, draped in swathes of gossamer cloth that glowed silver in the dim light. With a start, he realized he could still see the veiled doorway through this person’s body.

“No!” It said again, its voice neither male nor female. “You cannot go back.”

“I have to! Harry needs me-“

“No. You have passed through. You cannot go back.” The translucent person regarded him, waiting patiently for the question, the inevitable question they all asked, those people who were not expecting or praying to be allowed to pass through veil.

The foggy feeling in his head dissipated. The Department of Mysteries. Bellatrix. A stunning spell. Falling through the veil into…into…He looked hard into the ghostly face.

“Am I dead?” Asked Sirius Black.

“Yes.”

The misty spirit, for surely it must be some denizen of the afterlife, moved past Sirius towards the whispering voices. Sirius turned back towards the veil. He couldn’t hear anyone. What had happened to Harry? Too often he hadn’t been able to help his godson. Well, not again. Not now. He was going back. Back to Harry and Remus.

Once more he ran towards the veil.

“No!” The spirit’s voice again stopped him in his tracks. Why? He had to go back, even if it was only to say “Goodbye.” Was that too much to ask for, at the end of his life? To say goodbye to Harry and Remus? Beautiful, wretched Remus, alone once more. He had left him again. Why? Why? Why? 

The agony his lover must now feel cracked his own dead heart. “Remus! Oh, God, Remus!” The cry broke from his throat. Couldn’t death at least free him from pain? Sirius approached no closer to the veil. He stood still, holding his breath, listening intently, hoping to hear Remus once more before eternity took him. But all was quiet.

The spirit waited, silent and impassive. 

His expression pleading, Sirius asked, “Isn’t there some way that they can hear me?”

“No. Some of them have the power to hear other voices. But, not yours. Not yet.”

Sirius’ vision blurred. Evidently the dead could still weep.

The smooth mask of the spirit’s face altered slightly, making it seem somewhat more human. Faint warmth infused its voice. “Many wish to return.”

Sirius sank to his knees on the cold stone. He was so tired, so very tired of struggling to free himself from the past, of fighting to vanquish the damage he had suffered in his life so that he could be the lover and godfather that Remus and Harry deserved. But, he hadn’t been strong enough, and now it was too late. 

An eerie sound reached him. A moan, low and deep, of a shattered creature, a sound beyond pain. It came from his own lungs. He had felt despair like this for twelve long years. Now, he’d carry it into eternity. He’d left them behind to mourn him. Once again, he’d torn up their lives. “I owe them,” he wept. “I took so much from them. I never meant to hurt them, but I did. I did. I hurt them both so much. Please let me go back. Please let me try to make it up to them.”

“Who?”

“Harry and Remus.”

“Humans still surprise me,” the spirit replied, not unkindly. “Most wish to return to life for what it can still bring to **them** , not for what **they** can still bring to others. You are unusual.”

The spirit turned away from the veil and headed into the dark. “Come.”

Beyond speech, Sirius could only shake his head. He turned toward the veil, but all he saw was black. The archway was gone.

A sense of inevitability descended on him. Wearily, Sirius rose to his feet to follow. What other choice did he have? It was useless to fight. The powers here were beyond his strength. He could change nothing of himself or of his life now. His time had ended. His soul was marked with his sins and his grace. He only hoped the balance worked in his favor. He followed the glimmering form.

With no warning at all, they stood in a large, gray room. A vast multitude of figures sat on benches or leaned against the walls, talking among themselves. Some wore wizard robes and others looked distinctly Mugglish. Sirius got the odd impression that they were all waiting to board trains.

At one end of the room, two more of the genderless spirits were seated at a raised desk with large tomes opened in front of them. They spoke together quietly and occasionally wrote notes in one or both of the books. As Sirius watched, one of the seated spirits raised a hand and a small spirit appeared. This youngster smiled at a woman who was standing in front of the desk and escorted her off to the side. They disappeared through a doorway on the right.

“Next,” said one of the seated spirits, and an elderly man rose from his seat and walked forward.

“What is this place?” Sirius asked his guide.

“It is the first stop on your journey. The Stewards decide what path you must follow. And then you go.”

“Go where? You mean to Heaven or Hell? Where? And how do they decide? Are they God?”

For the second time, an expression flitted across the spirit’s face. Sirius could have sworn he saw a slightly exasperated eye roll. “You will understand in due course.” 

The spirit’s hand swept out indicating the place Sirius should take on a bench. He started to move forward and then halted. “Wait! Who are you? Are you a ghost? An angel? Do you have a name?”

“I am a Guardian of the Veil.” The spirit’s gaze swept across the room, alighting briefly on several other people. “It’s always the same when people cross suddenly,” the Guardian muttered. The fathomless eyes fixed once more on Sirius’ face. “You were not prepared. You bring too much of the living world with you. This is no longer that world.”

Again the spirit gestured towards the bench. Not knowing what else to do, Sirius sat. The spirit slowly dissipated. “I wish you the proper journey, Sirius Black.”

Sirius watched it go, uncomfortably aware that it hadn’t wished him a happy journey. Then he noticed that several other people, or souls, he supposed, had turned to stare at him. Wizards and witches, judging by their clothing, who, no doubt, had recognized his name. Sirius noticed that their bodies seemed insubstantial and hazy around the edges. His own looked solid, and he realized he could feel the hard bench and the floor beneath his feet. He wondered if that was normal. His sense of unreality grew.

“You’re **the** Sirius Black?” The wizard next to him asked. 

“Well, I used to be. I’m not sure just who or what I am anymore.”

The man nodded, not at all perturbed to be seated next to an infamous mass murderer. “You get used to it. Just keep reminding yourself that you’re dead.”

They sat in silence for a while. Another person was called up to the Stewards.

“My name’s Bode. Broderick Bode.” Sirius’ neighbor said. “I was murdered.”

“Oh…er…Nice to meet you,” Sirius said, extending his hand. Bode shook it, and Sirius couldn’t feel a thing. “Sorry. About being murdered, I mean.”

“Strangled, I was. At least it was quick for the people you snuffed.”

“I never killed anyone. I was framed.”

Bode’s basset hound face registered no surprise. He nodded at the Stewards. “Well, whether you did or you didn’t, they’ll know.”

“Umm…Broderick? Can you…can you feel anything? Like the bench or the floor?”

“No. We can’t feel anything. I think they just set these rooms up to look familiar to us. To ease us into whatever comes next.”

“Then why can I feel them?”

Bode gave him a look of disbelief. “Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it? You brought your body with you. Came right through the veil, we hear. Almost no one does that.”

They fell silent. And then Bode said, “Of course, no one escapes from Azkaban, either. How did you manage to pull that off?”

The other witches and wizards in the near vicinity, who had been trying surreptitiously to eavesdrop on their previous conversation, now made no pretense of not listening in.

Sirius sighed. Well, why not tell the tale? He had nothing better to do while he sat on the bench in God’s waiting room. “I’m an Animagus. I mean, I was an Animagus,” he began.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Noble and Most Ancient Family of Black

“Am I to understand,” said Phineas Nigellus slowly, “that my great-great-grandson – the last of the Blacks – is dead?”

“Yes, Phineas,” said Dumbledore. 

“I don’t believe it,” said Phineas brusquely.

Harry turned his head in time to see Phineas marching out of his portrait…

In no time Phineas appeared in his frame at 12 Grimmauld Place. There was no one in the bedroom, although it looked like it had been recently occupied. It was hard to keep track of all the comings and going in this house. One of those Weasleys had probably been here. Maybe that reprobate with the long hair. Phineas sniffed disapprovingly. 

He went to a frame in a small bedroom even higher in the house. 

“Sirius?” Phineas called loudly. He had to be loud. His worthless great-great-grandson had removed the pictures that had hung in his own room across the hall, the room he shared with the other one. Remus Lupin. Tainted Lupin. It was bad enough that he was a half-blood. But to add to that shame by being a werewolf. 

Phineas shuddered. It was bad enough that Dumbledore had allowed the creature admittance as a student at Hogwarts. Permitting it to teach, however; calling it Professor was shocking. But even that was not nearly as reprehensible as Sirius knowingly bringing a monster into his parents’ house in those days before his twisted views finally made him renounce his family and swear he’d never again set foot in Grimmauld Place.

Apparently nothing lasts forever, Phineas mused, since the prodigal last son of the Blacks had returned, stalking the old hallways and snarling at the loathsome house elf, Kreacher. Prison had done nothing to sweeten the boy’s temperament. Only Lupin’s presence seemed to lighten his foul moods. Sometimes the two of them actually smiled when they emerged from that bedroom in the morning. Phineas couldn’t decide whether they got up to something improper in there. No, surely even Sirius wouldn’t consort with a monster. Sirius’ mother, Lucretia, occasionally screamed about werewolves, but even she hadn’t accused her son of bestiality. At least, Phineas didn’t think so. He tried to ignore her as much as possible. Mad, old harpy. 

“Sirius!” He called sharply. He heard the cackling laughter of Kreacher as the snout-nosed elf sidled into the room. Kreacher chortled again. “Gone! He’s gone!” 

With a horrible sense of the inevitable, Phineas Nigellus knew. Dumbledore had spoken the truth. Sirius wasn’t home because he was dead. Phineas knew what he must now do.

Descending through the house, he began rousing other portraits, other members of the family of Black, the ones that still hung in their frames, waiting for Sirius to get around to tossing them out. He shepherded them to the first floor.

Phineas squeezed into the frame of the portrait of Sirius’ grandfather, Pollux Black. He liked Pollux. They understood each other, although Pollux was not a particularly talkative fellow, unless something deeply moved him. Even now he merely raised an eyebrow at Phineas questioningly. 

Phineas waited until the all the long-dead Blacks arranged themselves, settling into spaces in the already occupied frames on the first floor. Phineas let the babble die down before trying to make himself heard. When he at last had everyone’s attention, he paused. The momentousness of the occasion loomed before him. He had awakened the Blacks to tell them their family line had ended. It saddened him deeply. Clearing his throat, Phineas said dolefully, “The last son, the last Black, the sole remaining scion of the blood, is dead.”

Silence greeted this announcement. Pollux stared hard at Phineas for a long moment. The quiet was shattered by a gleeful crowing from the front of the hallway as Lucretia Black threw back her head, her rheumy eyes rolling, spittle oozing from the corners of her mouth. “That traitorous viper is dead! What a glorious day! Someone has finally ground his face into the dirt! May he choke on it for all eternity! Worthless filth! His flesh will rot off his bones and feed the worms! And I’ll laugh and-“

“Lucretia! Silence!” Pollux thundered. The other portraits, which had started to buzz with the news, also fell quiet.

Pollux’ pale blue eyes swept up and down the rows of faces. “Whatever we may think of him, Sirius was the last of the blood, the last of a long, illustrious line. It ends now with his death unless we, his ancestors, choose to petition the powers of the afterworld to invoke the pact of Cognatus Putus.”

No one spoke. A patter of running feet came down the stairs and Kreacher ran to Lucretia Black, a twisted joy on his face. “Sweet mistress, have you heard? You will be so pleased! So pleased with your Kreacher! The putrid scum that was your betrayer son is dead!” 

A cacophony rose from the portraits. Some cheered the news. Others, however, thought beyond the death of one man, and saw the long years of generations to come in which the stars of Black would not shine proudly above lesser mortals. And why should that be, when they had another alternative? At the very least, they should all convene and decide whether to ask for the pact to be invoked on behalf of their family, their last son. These more measured opinions carried the day.

And, so the shades of the ancestors of Sirius Black left their portraits and their graves, roused their spirits from eternal rest and traveled the celestial way to the land beyond the veil, to pass judgment on the last of their line.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

His Name was Sirius 

He had no recollection of getting back to 12 Grimmauld Place. But, the door appeared in front of him, he tapped the knob with his wand, and entered. He felt numb and utterly spent. God only knows what sort of answers he gave to the Ministry officials who had come bustling after them. Maybe Moody had done most of the explaining. Or Dumbledore. Remus couldn’t really remember. Time had stopped for him when he struggled with Harry and watched the star of his heart arc through the veil. 

He knew what it meant. Sirius was gone. Remus would relive that slow, graceful fall every time he closed his eyes. Harry’s voice still rang in his ears, screaming Sirius’ name.

Without realizing it, his feet carried him past the portraits and down the stairs into the kitchen. He stopped abruptly, seeing Kingsley Shacklebolt and Arthur and Molly Weasley sitting there looking shell-shocked. Remus turned on his heel and headed back upstairs. He didn’t want to deal with people right now. Someone called his name. He kept walking.

Up, past the motionless portraits. Curious. Many figures had moved. Faces from frames on other floors were here, crammed in with the usual denizens of this floor. The curtains across Mrs. Black’s portrait were open, but she, too, was absolutely still, and blessedly silent. He gave them no more thought and continued his climb to the upper floor of the house.

All too soon he stood outside their bedroom door. He hesitated, but then entered, realizing he had nowhere else to go. Remus shut the door behind him and nearly fell to his knees at the strength of Sirius’ presence in the room. His scent lingered. A faint, echo of his voice hung in the air. Remus looked at the beds, one neatly made and one with the covers still rumpled from where they had thrown them off this morning. No, yesterday morning. And they had had no inkling that their time together had almost run out. Remus sank onto the unused bed and stared across at its mate. 

They had been careful to keep up the fiction that they were no more than friends. Dumbledore and Moody knew, but none of the others did. Remus had not cared, but Sirius had been adamant…

“My sainted mother never knew about us, and I really don’t relish the thought of her learning about us now. I’m already stuck here listening to her daily denunciations about my inadequacies. I don’t need to hear her screeching about my sexual perversions to everyone in the Order. It would only give Snape more reasons to taunt me and Molly more ammunition about how unfit I am to be Harry’s godfather.”

“Oh, Paddy, you’ve **got** to ignore Snape. You’re responding to his jibes much too easily. I know you’re strong enough to shrug him off. As for Molly, she doesn’t mean half of what she says. She’s very protective and very fond of Harry, that’s all. I’m sure she wouldn’t care a bit to learn that we’re lovers.”

Sirius had merely smiled the grim smile that was now too much a part of him. Remus had acquiesced to his wishes. They kept it hidden.

Remus felt a lancing wound pierce his heart as he looked at the bed. They hadn’t even made love on their last night together. Sirius had been on edge, pacing the room with a frantic, jerky motion, his usual fluid grace nowhere to be seen. How he chafed against his confinement…

“…I’m just so bloody useless! Stuck here in this house! This bloody, fucking tomb! It wants nothing more than to chew me to pieces and spit me out in the gutter! Can’t you feel it, Remus? Can’t you feel how malevolent this house is? I swear it’ll kill me!”

Remus had ached to see Sirius haunted once again by the demons of his past. And, again as he had so often over the past months, Remus attempted to soothe his lover and give him hope and encouragement and a different perspective on things. Sirius’ mood had spun from anger to despair in a matter of seconds, his shadowed eyes silvery in the firelight. 

“Why do you put up with me, Re? You try so hard. You’re so good to me, and all I can give you is my anger. I can’t help the Order. I can’t help Harry. I hate who I am. And I take it out on you. I’m so unfair to you. I’m sorry. I don’t want to be like this.”

“Stop kicking yourself!” Remus had crossed the room to him, had slid his arms around the slender form, still too thin in spite of regular meals. He felt muscles strung taut under his hands. “Sirius, I love you. Nothing will ever change that. And we’ll get through this. We **will** find Peter and your name **will** be cleared. Then you’ll be able to go out and fight, and I’ll get more gray hair worrying about you.”

It was a rather weak joke and Sirius hadn’t so much as smiled in response.

They had eventually gone to bed, entwined around each other. They kissed for a long time, not fired by lust, but moved by need and compassion. The last words he had heard before falling asleep had been Sirius’ low, whispered, “I love you, too, Remus.” 

Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, blurring his sight of the pillow that still held the imprint of his lover’s head. 

Remus suddenly jumped to his feet and turned away from the bed. He stood looking into the unlit fireplace dusty with ashes and crumbled logs. What an appropriate metaphor for someone’s wasted life. Blazing, bright promise damped down and smothered until the last smoldering ember died. Sirius had fought so hard to put himself back together, to overcome what Azkaban had done to him. And his reward was to be imprisoned in grave of his youth. Was Dumbledore senile? How had he so misread Sirius’ state of mind? Why hadn’t he given any credence to Remus’ worries about Sirius’ emotional fragility? 

Remus growled wordlessly. Dumbledore hadn’t shown one iota of concern when Sirius had been thrown into Azkaban, had he? Had he done anything? Had he cared? Had he even thought about getting Sirius’ side of the story? No! And, evidently, because Sirius had survived one hellish prison, Dumbledore saw nothing wrong with caging him again! What the fuck had he been thinking?

A tentative knock on the door caught his attention.

He wanted to ignore it, but it had interrupted the flow of his anger. Silently fuming, he waited for his visitor to go away or barge in. Well, he had no intention of obeying the social niceties if anyone dared enter. He kept his back to the door.

It opened quietly. A few soft footsteps came into the room, followed by Molly’s voice. “Remus, are you alright? Can I do anything for you?”

Slowly he turned and his hard eyes pinned her like a predator sighting its prey. “You can leave me alone.”

She ignored him and came closer, her hand reaching out to touch his arm. “It’s a terrible thing, what happened to him. But, you’re not alone-“

His bitter laughter was like a slap. “Oh, but I am. I am very much alone.”

She drew back slightly, torn between her desire to comfort and her wariness at his mood. “We – the people here – I know we’re not as close to you as he was, but we care about you and we want to help you any way we can.”

Remus’ lip curled in a dismissive sneer. “You’d have to know a lot more about Sirius in order to help me. And you were never really interested in learning, were you?”

She looked puzzled at his words. “I know his passing is very painful to-“

“Death! His death! Just come out and say it!” He challenged her, his voice tight with barely controlled anger. 

Doggedly, she tried again. “Alright. His death. I’m sorry you and Harry had to be there, to see him go-“

“Are you afraid to say his name?”

“Remus, please-“

His voice rose to a shout. “Is it just as hard as saying ‘Voldemort’? His name was Sirius!”

He barely saw her anymore; so eager was he to be swept along in the bitter joy of his anger.

“How dare you come in here dripping with sympathy! You didn’t give a damn about Sirius!” Hoarse with fury, his voice frightened her. “You hated everything about him, even though you saw only what you wanted to see, not who he was. You saw a rough, angry man; someone ready to take risks, to gamble with other people’s feelings. Someone more comfortable with misfits like Mundungus than with nice, upstanding Ministry minions and their wives. Someone who still had the stench of prison about him, who wasn’t good enough to play a major role in Harry’s life. Well, you must be happy now, Molly. You don’t have any more competition. No one will stand between you and your surrogate son, now that the inconvenient godfather is very conveniently dead!”

Her jaw dropping, Molly fell back a few paces. Stunned, she could only murmur, “No, Remus, that’ not true. That’s not-“

The last vestiges of his patience snapped. “Get out!” He roared.

She turned and fled.

The room rang with silence, and silently, a slow trickle of tears slipped from his eyes.

He whispered to any spirit that might be listening, “His name was Sirius.”


	2. Part 1

Leaving the Waiting Room

Time stretched into something unrecognizable. Sirius couldn’t judge whether he’d been on the bench forever or for just a few hours. Did those measures matter any more? People near him talked about their lives and loves, shared their blasted hopes and wasted opportunities. And still they sat. Newly dead people appeared. The occasional calls of “Next” would bring someone else up to the Stewards. It seemed to Sirius that he and Bode were no closer to the next stage of their journey. And Bode had died months ago. Maybe this waiting area was Purgatory?

A strong wind suddenly whipped through the room. Another ghostly being swept in, but this one was taller and fiercer than anything Sirius had yet witnessed. Its form glowed with a pale, angry blue. An involuntary shiver rippled across Sirius as he watched the spirit approach the Stewards. He pitied whatever soul this spirit was here to accompany. Surely they would not travel to a happy resting place.

The imposing spirit interrupted the Stewards’ work. The three conversed briefly and then, as one, they turned. Sirius felt the touch of their other-worldly eyes crawl across his face. One of the Stewards spoke. 

“Sirius Black, come forward.”

Bode muttered as Sirius rose, “Good luck, mate.”

No one else had been called by name. Sirius had the same feeling he used to get when a professor disciplined him. “Detention, Mr. Black!” As Sirius approached the desk the fierce spirit regarded him with a distinctly hostile expression. A Steward looked at him impassively and said, “You are a most unusual case. The first in many generations of men.”

“The first what?” Sirius enquired blankly. But, the Steward didn’t answer.

“Come!” Snapped the blue spirit. 

“Where are we going?” Sirius asked.

“You will not understand until you arrive.”

Sirius exploded with sudden exasperation and just a little fear. “For God’s sake, just give me some answers! Give all these people some answers! We know we’re dead! Just tell us what the hell happens now!”

The blue spirit looked at him with disdain. “You are impertinent.”

And before Sirius could reply he was swept forward into a vortex that tumbled him through space and time until everything went black.

~ **~** ~ **~** ~ **~** ~

The blind vertigo stopped. The sense of stillness, of orientation was a relief after that weightless spin through the void. How long had he been propelled through the dark? An hour? A year? How is time measured in the afterlife? And why did he keep thinking about things like this?

Gradually, Sirius became aware of other faint sensations. He knew his eyes were closed, yet he felt there was light surrounding him. He thought he heard the muffled stirrings of other people. A rustle of clothing. The quiet sounds of someone breathing. A sniff. 

Relief like he had never known filled him to bursting. He had dreamt it! He had been stunned and hit the floor hard and his unconscious mind had taken off on some weird death fantasy. And, now he was reviving. In a moment he’d be ready to open his eyes. Remus would be there, wouldn’t he? Sirius half expected to feel the familiar touch of the werewolf’s hand on his face. 

He moved slightly, and then froze. He sensed others near, but why did no one speak? Had he been captured and taken somewhere? His eyes opened the merest slit. 

“He awakes,” said a familiar, hostile voice.

And another voice responded. A voice he hated above all others, echoing through the years and awakening the nightmares of his youth. “About time, disgusting filth that he is!”

Sirius slowly opened his eyes and sat up. A wave of cold horror threatened to drown him. He was surrounded on three sides by a crowd of people, many of whose supercilious, self-satisfied faces had mocked him for years from the walls of that hateful house. Others he’d never seen before, but somehow he knew. He just knew who they were. His ancestors, the noble and most ancient, purer-than-thou, almost-fucking-royalty house of Black. And facing him directly were his parents. He recoiled at the inflamed hatred on their faces, feeling again the malevolence that had tried so hard to break him when he was alive. 

He glanced at a flash of blue at the corner of his vision. The unfriendly spirit stood next to him, with a face like a mask. Flat, expressionless eyes stared at him and a chilly voice said, “You have arrived. Do you know what awaits you?”

“Hell?” Sirius replied.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Memorial

A plaque of a large dog running free under a starry sky reflected dully in the overcast summer light. The small group of people surrounding it in one of Hogwarts’ gardens started to break apart, drifting back to the castle to share a meal before they all returned to their homes or their assignments. Some hesitated, looking back at the disconsolate teen standing motionless near the simple memorial. But Albus Dumbledore motioned for them to continue on their way.

Harry stared at the replica of Padfoot. Its eyes were all wrong. They were just eyes. They didn’t have the look that always shouted to Harry, “It’s me! Sirius! I’m still here inside this ridiculous canine!” No, Sirius wasn’t in this dog. He wasn’t anywhere.

Harry drew a shaky breath and walked towards the lake. He didn’t really want to talk to anyone, not even Ron or Hermione or the twins. They’d all murmur their condolences again, and then start to think ahead. Planning what they needed to do today. Tomorrow. Returning to their lives from this brief interlude where they stopped to salute a fallen comrade. And Harry would return to the Dursleys, and sit in his room and try not to think at all. He had nowhere else to go and nothing to plan. And nothing to heal the aching wound where his heart used to be.

Not many of the words spoken by anyone today had penetrated the cloud of hurt surrounding him. Dumbledore had talked for a while about Sirius, and then others who felt the need said something. But, most of them didn’t know him very well. It was stupid, wasn’t it, for them to even open their mouths? Remus had made the most sense, Harry thought. When asked by Dumbledore if he wished to say anything, Remus had glanced rather sharply at the Headmaster, his expression a mixture of reproach and sorrow. Then he had simply said, “Sirius knows what he meant to me. What he still means to me. And that’s what I will carry in my heart.”

Harry had glanced at him, and for the first time, pity for someone else drowned his own grief. Remus looked awful. The lowering gray sky above them had more color than his skin. His normally gentle hazel eyes had been bright, not with tears, but with pain. Harry had wanted to reach out to him, just to touch his arm for a moment in a silent gesture of support and understanding. But, he let the moment pass. 

When Dumbledore asked him if he wanted to add anything, there was suddenly so much to say. So much to tell these people about why Sirius was important and why his death was so painful and unfair. And how bleak, that they had only begun to truly know each other as people, rather than as the images in each other’s minds of Godson and Godfather. But, all Harry could say was, “I just wish we had had more time.”

And he heard Remus mutter, “Amen.”

Now, he sat near the lake and stopped trying to choke back his tears. He tossed his glasses to the lawn and rested his face against his bent knees. He didn’t cry long this time, which rather surprised him. Maybe he had no more tears left. 

Harry raised his head, hearing footsteps approach. Without his glasses he couldn’t see clearly at all. He knew he should take defensive measures and grab his glasses and raise his wand, but he no longer cared. If a Death Eater had slipped into Hogwarts to kill him, then so be it. 

“May I join you for a while?” The blurry figure revealed itself to be Remus Lupin.

“Sure,” Harry said, making a show of leaning over for his glasses and using the movement to wipe the tears from his face.

“It’s alright, Harry. You don’t have to try to hide anything from me.”

They sat without speaking for a long while, each in his own thoughts. Harry found it strangely comforting. Without really knowing why, a question rose to his lips. “How come you left the others to come out here?”

Remus shrugged. “I wanted to check on you. And I found I had nothing to say in there.” He frowned slightly. “I’m having a hard enough time as it is to put my mourning aside and devote all my thoughts and energy to the Order’s business. I’ll do it, because it has to be done, but it’s so very hard. And to hear people talking about reconnaissance and strategy and making contacts… Well, it seems pointless and trivial compared to…to Sirius’ death.”

“Yeah,” Harry whispered. He looked at Remus and was startled to see a trail of tears slowly moving down his face. He looked so sad, so lost, that Harry felt his heart break all over again. “I’m sorry, Remus,” he whispered. 

Remus smiled slightly through his tears, and with a visible effort, pulled himself together, wiping his face dry with his hands. “You know what upsets me most, even more than the fact that Sirius died?”

Harry shook his head, wondering what could possibly be worse.

“The realization that Sirius spent so much of his life fighting his battles alone. From the time he was a kid, dealing with his family. We knew some of it, James and Peter and I, and James probably knew more than I did. But, I know Sirius only told us part of what he suffered in that house. And, then for twelve dreadful years he fought with all the power he had to keep himself sane in Azkaban. And, finally, this last year he battled to do what was expected of him, to be entombed in that house, when it was slowly killing him inside.”

Remus blinked back more tears. 

“Sirius wasn’t anywhere near perfect, Harry. He had his flaws, yet in some ways, he really was an extraordinary man. But, life taught him early that the people to whom he was closest, the people who should have loved him the most, could not be trusted. The hardest and most damaging lesson he learned was that he was ultimately alone. He couldn’t rely on anyone but himself. And that meant that he always had a hard time asking people for help when he really needed it. I knew he was laboring to deal with his life over the past year, but I didn’t realize how deep the hurt went. Even when he tried to tell me, I didn’t understand how bad it was. I should have done more for him. And, now it’s too late.”

Harry didn’t know what to say. As he struggled to find something, anything to offer as comfort, Remus fixed him with a stern look.

“I see similarities between you and Sirius, Harry. The same sort of upbringing in a family that doesn’t care about you. The same unwillingness or inability to go to others for help when a situation is much too big to handle on your own. The same sense of isolation, of being apart, even when you’re with other people. Maybe you’ll feel that it isn’t my place to say this, but I’m saying it anyway. Please know that you can always come to me for help, no matter how trivial you think the problem is. I’m very fond of you, Harry, and I hate that you think you’re all alone. I’m not your father and I’m not Sirius, but, whatever strength and wisdom and support I have is yours for the asking.”

Their conversation lapsed, but the silence was soothing, in its own way. Harry hadn’t wanted any adults near him, but, for some reason, Remus’ presence was easy to take. Maybe because he and Sirius had been such close friends for so long. Or maybe because Remus, too, felt guilt over Sirius’ death, that Harry didn’t feel as if Remus had no right to be sad. 

He found himself wanting, needing to share some of his thoughts. Haltingly, he started talking. “When I got back here…after it happened…I was in Dumbledore’s office. I was so angry. And I couldn’t believe it, you know? I couldn’t believe it when I saw it happen. It couldn’t…It couldn’t be true...” His voice cracked. Remus said nothing, but waited for Harry to continue. He gently gripped Harry’s shoulder with one hand. 

It was just what Sirius had done after the end of the TriWizard Tournament when he had sat in Dumbledore’s office telling them about the graveyard. The memory stung. But, even though Harry teetered on the edge of once more bursting into tears, he forced himself to continue, his voice quavering with emotion.

“I turned and looked out the window and saw the Quidditch stadium. And I remembered seeing Padfoot up at the top of the stands, during a match, in the rain. Back before I knew who he was…And later, after I knew…about him… I thought he probably came to see whether I was as good as my Dad had been…but I never asked him…I never thought to ask…and…and now, I can’t ask…I’ll never…” His voice breaking, Harry covered his face with his hands. Oh, yes, he had plenty of tears left. Wrenching sobs shook him and he was sure that this time he was going to fall apart completely. Right there next to the lake, he was crumbling into a million pieces. Except a pair of strong arms pulled him back and held him together and it was the only lifeline he had. And Harry thought he’d cry forever, leaning into Remus’ shoulder, huddled in the sanctuary of Remus’ arms. 

But, he didn’t. This wave of sorrow eventually subsided, as had all the others. Yet, when the storm of his emotion passed, Harry made no move to draw away. For the first time in his life, Harry felt truly sheltered by another human being. He regretted that it wasn’t Sirius who sat with him. And that thought made him vaguely ashamed, as if somehow Remus’ concern and affection weren’t good enough. 

Even so, Harry was content to stay still. And Remus was also content to hold him. How Remus wished he could cry like that; vent his grief in a voice loud enough to make the stars tremble in the firmament. So often his agony threatened to burst out in howls of pain, in oceans of tears. And each time he forced it back, grabbed it by the throat and squeezed until only a few stray tears escaped him.

Harry had summed it up quite neatly. ‘I just wish we had had more time.’ Remus knew exactly what he meant. So he started talking. He told Harry about his own reflections since the death. His fierce anger, which had only recently begun to abate. His heavy, aching sorrow that threatened to undo him, especially when something brought a sharp remembrance of Sirius. He talked about how he was starting to accept that Sirius was truly gone from his life, and how much that hurt. And, how he clung to whatever memories he had.

“Harry, it’s the small things that mean the most. That hurt the most and that you most want to keep alive in your memory.”

“Like what?” Harry said, his voice muffled against Remus’ shirt.

Remus thought for a moment, seeking an example that was not drenched in sadness. “Like the Tea Face.”

Harry sat up slowly, with just the shade of a smile. “The what?”

“The Tea Face. Sirius always got this disapproving expression on his face whenever he drank tea that I prepared. He always complained that I didn’t steep the tea properly. “Let it steep for five minutes, Moony! Five, not four or six. How hard is that to understand? No wonder you were no bloody good at Potions.” And that’s what I would do. Steep it for five minutes. But the tea was always a little too strong or a little too weak. I never in my life got it exactly right. And, the look on Sirius’ face when he tasted unsatisfactory tea was completely different from the look for any other unsatisfactory food or beverage. So, one day I told him he could brew his own damned tea because I was sick of seeing him make the Tea Face at me. The name stuck.”

They smiled at each other wistfully. It was good to have the memory. And it broke their hearts that that’s all it was. But, it was easier to talk about Sirius after that.

After a bit of a lull in the conversation, Harry ventured into unknown territory. “Remus, did Sirius…was he ever...was there ever anyone special in his life?”

Remus didn’t answer right away. The silence stretched and when Harry glanced quickly over at the older man he was disconcerted to see Remus looking speculatively at him. Caught staring, Remus shrugged. “I assume you’re asking if Sirius was ever in love.”

Harry nodded. Remus eyed him a moment more. Then his posture straightened, as if he’d come to some sort of decision. 

“Yes, Harry. He loved someone very deeply, and was loved equally in return.” 

Harry was surprised. Sirius had never said anything. But, maybe this had happened long ago, a young, bright love that had broken on the rocks of Azkaban. 

“Does that person know he’s…dead?”

“Harry, that person is me.”

It took several moments for the words to sink in. It was not at all what Harry had expected to hear. Harry had fuzzy thoughts about a woman from the past, from school, maybe. Remus had never entered his mind. 

Remus watched the thought processes reflecting on Harry’s face. He hoped Harry would be able to accept this and wouldn’t go off on some homophobic rant against his godfather. If he dared to attack Sirius, Remus knew he’d have a lot of trouble containing his own raw emotions. Harry started to scowl, and Remus braced himself for the anger.

“Why didn’t he tell me? Why does everything have to be kept in the dark?!” His voice started to rise. “Didn’t either of you think this was important enough to tell me?”

Remus raised his hands in a placating gesture. Harry was angry about not knowing, but the essence of the message didn’t seem to bother him. Well, they could deal with that.

“Harry, there were half a dozen times we were going to tell you over the last year. But…oh, I’m sorry, I know you’ll hate this, but please let me explain our thinking. There was always something that interfered with things.”

Harry drew breath to retort. Remus used his best no-nonsense professorial voice, “Let me finish, Harry.”

The fuming teen subsided, still frowning. 

“What you have to understand is that Sirius and I fell in love a long time ago. And we lost each other during that last war. To mistrust, to suspicion, to the stress of living during those times, never being sure that when one of us left in the morning, he’d live to come back home. And then your parents were killed and Sirius went to prison.”

Remus paused, the bleak shadow of those long, empty years aging his face as Harry watched. “And, after twelve years of torture, he escaped, only to spend the next two years on the run. I knew I still loved him, but I didn’t know how he felt. And, he still loved me, but he didn’t know how I felt. We occasionally got some time together, but it was never enough to reestablish ourselves. We realized pretty quickly the love was still there, and that gave us something to build on, but, there was so much other baggage. Prison damaged him a great deal. And, my isolation within my own society hadn’t done me any favors, either. We had to rediscover each other, and get used to the changes we found. We had to forgive each other for the things we had done wrong. And it was so hard to do, when we were so often apart.”

Harry’s anger vanished as quickly as it came. It was not only Remus’ words, but his tone of voice and the pain reflected in his weary eyes. Even though he and Sirius had pulled something out of the wreckage of their blasted lives, Remus still bled from the hurt of it. 

Remus continued. “The newer members of the Order didn’t know about us. And the ones that did know, like Dumbledore and Moody, kept quiet about it. Even Sirius’ family had never known. Once he left that house at sixteen, they washed their hands of him. And we were pretty discrete. Last summer, when we moved into Grimmauld Place, it was logical enough for us to share a room, since we were old friends. Nobody thought anything of it.”

“Once you arrived, we tried to find a good time to tell you about us. But, you had that hearing hanging over your head and Molly was constantly criticizing, and every other sentence out of Snape’s mouth was a dig at Sirius and that goddamned portrait just wouldn’t shut the fuck up!” Remus stopped abruptly, reining in his sudden anger. “Sirius was so miserable there. Every horrible thing his family had ever done or said to him seemed to linger in the air. He felt trapped and useless. Sometimes his emotions were so raw and so hard for him to control that he felt it was better for everyone if he cut himself off from them. So he would spend days, not hours, but entire days, locked away with Buckbeak. He hated the way he felt and hated that he couldn’t break free of it. And I still didn’t understand the depths of the damage done to him.”

Remus looked sadly into Harry’s eyes. “He didn’t want all of that hanging over us when we told you. Sirius wanted so much for you to see that we loved each other, that we had survived in spite of everything, even our own monumental mistakes. And he wanted to make sure you understood that even though he loved me, he didn’t love you any less. Your place in his heart would always belong to you alone. He just didn’t think he was capable of expressing those thoughts anymore.”

Harry stared across the water. He had seen Sirius’ volatile moodiness, but he hadn’t really understood. How wounded must his godfather have been, to feel incapable of speaking of love? If they had only had more time. 

Time. Once again, the lack of time had ruined everything. They had never had the time to speak of love, and love, perhaps feeling neglected, had played a part in Sirius’ death.

“Harry, would you care to share what you’re thinking?”

“I was just thinking that time is the enemy. And so is love.”

“What do you mean?”

Harry turned to him, a horrible guilt in his eyes. “We never had time to talk about what was important. And, if I hadn’t loved Sirius, then Voldemort wouldn’t have been able to set all this up and Sirius wouldn’t have gone to the Ministry and he’d still be alive!”

Remus shook his head. “You can’t take all that blame on yourself, Harry. You can’t live without loving other people and letting them love you. The actions of a lot of others affected what happened that night. Any one of dozens of things could have happened differently and Sirius would have lived. But, maybe Ron would have died. Or Hermione. Or you. You can only act on the information you have, and do the best you can under the circumstances. And understand that sometimes, in spite of our best efforts, we make mistakes and horrible things happen.” 

Harry shrugged and turned away. But, Remus wasn’t going to allow Harry to sink back into self-blame quite so easily. “Listen to me, Harry. Maybe you can’t let go of that feeling of guilt right now. That’s okay. But, I’m going to keep making this argument. I’ve got a lot of experience because this is exactly what Sirius went through, blaming himself for your parents’ deaths.”

Harry said nothing, but Remus thought he detected a slight nod. He decided not to push any harder. Harry had a lot to think about. They said nothing more until they heard Tonks calling. “Oy, Harry! We’ve got a portkey to catch in five minutes!”

Remus and Harry started walking back to the castle. In a low voice Harry stated rather than asked, “You didn’t give up on him, did you. Even if, maybe, he wasn’t ready to let it go…the guilt…”

“No, I didn’t. He was worth fighting for, Harry. And so are you.”

“Thanks, Remus.”

They were soon among the departing friends and members of the Order. For some reason, the close proximity of all these people made Harry uncomfortable. He anxiously sought out Tonks and her portkey.

“I’ll see you soon.” Remus said quietly.

“Can I write to you?” Harry asked, a little surprised at himself. He was rewarded with the first genuine smile he’d seen on Remus’ face in a very long time. 

“I’d like that a lot, Harry.”

Harry joined Tonks and Mad-Eye Moody and in a flash they disappeared. Remus’ eyes lingered once more on the plaque of the running dog. A tap on his shoulder interrupted his thoughts.

It was Albus Dumbledore. “Remus, would you join me in my office? I have something to discuss with you.”

“Of course, Albus,” Remus replied. He couldn’t help the coolness of his tone. He still laid a great deal of blame at Dumbledore’s door, even though he knew he wasn’t being entirely fair.

Albus said nothing more as they made their way through the school. Once they reached the office, Dumbledore indicated that Remus should take a seat. He did so and watched while the Headmaster walked over to the phoenix Fawkes and idly stroked the bird’s fiery plumage.

Finally, Albus returned to the ornate chair behind the desk. His gaze rested on the only empty picture frame in the room, that of Phineas Nigellus. Remus sat quietly.

Albus smiled suddenly, and it was as if radiant sun shone broke through dark shadows. “You are a patient man, Remus Lupin.”

The werewolf shrugged. “I assume you’ll tell me whatever is on your mind in due course.”

“Remus, a very rare event is taking place. Well, perhaps ‘event’ is the wrong word. But, I’m afraid I have no better way to describe it.” 

His bright blue eyes held concern and affection as they searched Remus’ tired, worn face. And still Remus waited patiently.

“You are a scholar, Remus, as well as a teacher and a warrior. Does the phrase ‘Cognatus Putus’ mean anything to you?”

“No, I don’t think so. Putus. That means unmixed or unstained, doesn’t it? And cognatus refers to family or blood relations.”

“Indeed. This is something that has its beginnings thousands years ago. Somewhere in the misty start of our kind, when magical folk separated from non-magic, clans or families formed themselves and began to build order out of chaos. They established government and laws and sought to provide a framework for a workable wizard society. They were the rulers. And somewhere, back in those days that are now shrouded in fog, they formed a pact with other powers; heavenly powers much greater than our own puny, human strength.”

He sat silently for a moment, and then glanced at Phineas’ empty frame. “I have great gaps of knowledge about this. Only the sketchiest of descriptions exist. But, my understanding is that, in return for providing just and beneficial leadership, for improving their world and the world of those dependent on them, for protecting and nurturing the weaker among them, the pureblood families have leave to petition the powers for one thing. That should the line of a pureblood family come to an end, the departed ancestors may request that the last son’s life be given back to him, so that he can continue providing the just and fair leadership that is his duty and his gift.”

Remus had to remind himself to breathe. His voice sounded stained to his own ears as he said slowly, “The last son of a pureblood family can be returned to life?”

Dumbledore’s eyebrow quirked. “That is the gist of it. I’m sure there is more to it than that, but I’m afraid I haven’t been able to find much on the particulars. Whatever else may be required, whatever procedure must be followed, is unknown to me.”

Remus’ iron control clamped down on his heart and soul. This simply couldn’t be true. “Do you have any proof that this has ever happened? Isn’t it more likely that the original translation and meaning of this have been lost down through the ages? Surely you don’t believe that the dead can return!”

The old wizard smiled gently at Remus. “I understand your reluctance to hope. But, I’ve unearthed several medieval genealogies and found some interesting dates. Look at this.”

Dumbledore gingerly opened a lumpy book, its cover encrusted with mold that looked potentially life-threatening. He slowly turned the crackling pages and pointed to a name in a family tree. “The Sevigny family, one of the oldest pureblood families in France. Here is the entry for Etienne Paillard de Sevigny. As you can see, he was the last of his line, born in 1187 and died in 1216. Then, he died again in 1256.” 

“That may simply be a mix-up of some sort. Maybe the first death date was written in incorrectly and the second date is the real year of death.” 

“Let us continue.” Albus burrowed through several other books to point out four additional cases of double death dates for the last sons of pureblood families. When he was done, a haze of dust lingered in the air. Remus sneezed explosively. With a flick of his wand, Albus swirled the dust out the window. Remus sat in his chair and thumbed slowly through the books, releasing more dust and more sneezes. His heart sank again when he discovered several instances where family lines died out. He reluctantly pointed these out to Dumbledore.

“I have no explanation, Remus, other than to wonder if, in those cases, the answer to the ancestors’ petition was “No” or if the ancestors, for some reason, chose not to request that life be returned to the last son.”

“The evidence of the double death dates alone would not be enough to convince me, either. However, when Harry and I returned that night from the Department of Mysteries, Phineas Nigellus asked me very succinctly if his understanding was correct, that Sirius was dead. Then, he left. He has returned only once to tell me the souls of Blacks long dead would convene to discuss an ancient pact. When I asked him if he was referring to Cognatus Putus, Phineas was most annoyed to realize I had some idea of what it was.”

Remus rose and paced slowly to the window and back. The thought that Sirius could come back to him tantalized him like a vision of water in the desert. But, he couldn’t let his hope or his longing cloud his thinking. What if they were incorrect? What if Phineas was mistaken? Maybe he was getting as barmy as Mrs. Black. Then a horrible thought struck him and his heart plummeted to his feet. So much for not giving in to hope.

“Albus, if what you say is true, a family decides whether or not to invoke this pact. Sirius’ family hated him! They could decide to let their line die, rather than let him live!”

“And that’s one reason why I have said nothing of this to Harry. Would it be right to hold out hope for this sort of miracle, only to have it snatched away? There is a great deal I don’t know about the workings of this pact. Finally, this is not something I would want Voldemort to discover. Harry’s Occlumency skill is not yet good enough for him to be able to shroud his thoughts and knowledge from Voldemort’s prying. I only hope that he works diligently on his lessons over the summer.”


	3. Part 3

Family Reunion

The stern spirit said, “You have arrived. Do you know what awaits you?”

“Hell?” Sirius replied.

Judging from the expression on the spirit’s face, “Hell” was an incorrect and highly inappropriate answer. It also did nothing to sweeten his family’s welcome to the afterlife.

“You see what he thinks of us, the ungrateful wretch. Hell is where we should send him so he can wallow in the sewers for all eternity!”

“Hear, hear!” A elderly man in a powdered wig chimed in, glaring at Sirius.

“Filth! Vermin!”

“Mudblood bootlicker!”

“Soiled, dirty-“

“SILENCE!!”

From the far end of the room beyond the unearthly gathering of deceased Blacks stood the most exquisitely beautiful woman Sirius had ever seen. Or seen through, as she too, was one of these disembodied entities that kept appearing without warning. He was starting to get used to it.

The perfection of her visage was clouded by her obvious annoyance with the unruly horde gathered before her. “You will take your seats and abide by the rules set forth under this ancient pact.”

Grumbling to themselves, the family spirits drifted towards crowded rows of seats. One hung back, however and as Sirius rose to his feet he finally found someone in the afterlife he didn’t mind seeing. 

“Uncle Alphard!”

“Hello, lad. I’d give you a hug, but you’re not able to feel it. I expect you find this all a little odd, eh?”

“Yeah, well none of it gets any more normal. What is-“

“You ask too many questions.” The stern blue spirit fussed. “Come forward so we may begin.”

“Begin what?” Sirius muttered out of the corner of his mouth to his uncle, hoping to get answers and not be scolded for his impertinence again. 

Uncle Alphard walked with them towards the front of the room. With a cautious glance at the spirit, he said, “It’ll all be explained in a few moments, I imagine. Just remember, some of us in the family are on your side, Sirius.”

He sat down in the front row. The spirit indicated that Sirius should be seated in a chair that faced the rows of his ancestors. Sirius felt exposed and vulnerable under the weight of so many hostile eyes. 

His thoughts were interrupted by the woman spirit. “Sirius Black, your death has ended your family line. This gathering of your ancestors will debate whether or not to ask me to invoke the powers of the ancient pact of Cognatus Putus on your behalf. The purpose of the pact is to grant life back to the last son of a pureblood family, in order that he may continue his work on earth. Do you understand?”

Sirius understood the words perfectly well. He wasn’t sure he believed them. “You’re telling me that I can be sent back? Alive? I’d go back to my life where I left it?”

“I thought he was supposed to be a smart boy, Lucretia. He seems a bit dim,” muttered a vicious, apple-cheeked old lady. A chorus of invective directed at Sirius’ perceived idiocy rose like a rumbling storm.

“Quiet!” The spirit snapped. Her frown was quite impressively intimidating. “You will all have your chance to speak at the appropriate time. The newly deceased has not yet had the opportunity to receive the explanations to which he is entitled.”

Sirius decided that he rather liked this being. She reminded him strongly of Professor McGonagall, although even Minerva could learn a few things about how to quell a room full of troublemakers from this one. She turned her imposing gaze fully on him.

“Have you ever heard of Cognatus Putus?”

“No, I haven’t…uh…ma’am. Excuse me, but I have no idea how I should address you.” 

“Dolt,” someone muttered from the family.

“I need no form of address,” she answered cryptically. 

Sirius didn’t find this at all satisfactory. “But, who or what are you?” 

“Hmph,” muttered the stern spirit from behind Sirius addressing the woman spirit. “I told you he asks many impertinent questions.”

The woman shot a quelling glance at the grumpy spirit. “He has no knowledge of any of this. Only a fool would not raise questions.” 

Her heavy, commanding gaze came back to Sirius. “I am the Judge. I will direct this convocation and ultimately decide whether or not to accept the petition of your ancestors.”

Well, that at least was understandable, even if he still wasn’t sure just what was going on here. As if reading his thoughts, the spirit elaborated.

“Cognatus Putus is a pact that came into being many, many generations ago. The pureblooded, the gifted magical beings, had a duty to better the lives of all in their world. They were blessed with powerful magic and great understanding of how to use it for the benefit of their society. It happened, in those ancient days, that some of the pure lines came to an end, due to many things. War, disease, forces natural and unnatural. And, as their work was not yet done, and the fall of these people and the ending of their lines boded no good for the world, the eternal powers granted that, should the last of a pureblood family be deemed worthy, he would be made whole and alive again, and sent back to the other side of the veil to continue to use his gifts to the best of his ability to benefit his society.”

She looked questioningly at Sirius. He nodded to indicate his understanding.

“What your ancestors will now decide is whether or not they wish to ask me to give your life back to you. They will petition to either invoke the pact or to keep you here in the afterlife. As Judge, it falls to me to rule on which course to follow.”

Sirius felt his mood sink. He couldn’t imagine that this roomful of vengeful, disapproving relations would want to do anything that might benefit him. But, even if they did, surely the Judge would disqualify him based on his rejection of the importance of blood purity. Well, his traitorous attitude would be revealed in due course. He might as well play along, as he had nothing more to lose. 

The Judge continued. “Your ancestors will question you, if they wish. Or they will tell me what they know of you. And I may also question you. Then they will make their recommendation. I will weigh your merits and their request and decide. Should the pact be invoked, you will be required to take a vow as surety that you will use your gifts for the benefit of others. Be aware that if you are questioned, I will be able to judge your truthfulness. Lie at your peril!”

Sirius nodded again. “Thank you for your explanation,” he said to the Judge. 

“Listen to him,” snarled Sirius’ father, Arcturus Black. “So proper and polite. Not brave enough to spout your venom here, are you? Do you think we don’t remember your haughty, superior attitude? How you acted as if we were all beneath you? How you sought to poison your brother against us? You thought you were better than your entire family! We gave you everything and you threw it back into our faces, you spineless, mewling whelp!”

“Oh, come now, Arc! I think you’ve got that all wrong,” interjected Alphard Black. “I’d say anyone who could stand straight and tall in the middle of a roomful of rabid, screaming Blacks and hold up his end of the argument against the lot of them has quite a bit of spine. Balls, too!” He nodded approvingly at his nephew.

“Is it necessary to speak like a common tramp?” Snapped another battle-ax of an old lady from a back row. Sirius was sure it was Aunt Elladora.

That seemed to be the signal for everyone to start talking at once. Some of them shouted insults at Sirius. Some threatened Alphard. Some paired off and shouted at each other. Arms gesticulating, mouths wide open, eyes flaming. A disquieting thought crept out of the back of Sirius’ mind. What if this had nothing to do with some ancient agreement? What if he had been condemned to spend his afterlife locked in a room with generations of his ancestors?

CRASH! The Judge banged a gavel like a thunderbolt down on her dais. “Be seated! All of you! Mere invective will not carry your arguments with me! You will remain silent until called upon to speak!” Like chastened, but surly schoolchildren, the family Black settled back down.

“We will hear first from Arcturus and Lucretia Black. As you are the parents of this man, it is your right to begin.”

“My son,” Arcturus sneered, “was the greatest disappointment of my life. I saw how my own uncle acted and how wrong it was. I saw how it pained my family to deal with that sort of rot living in our midst and I swore it would never happen with my own children. But, Alphard’s poison reappeared, spewing forth from the mouth of my first-born. What a nightmare, hearing the same filthy, twisted ideas and seeing the same self-righteous anger, as if he was entitled to question generations of heritage and of blood. He should have been born in the gutter, as it’s where he chose to live. Why, when my nieces and nephews were such wonderful children, why was I cursed with this rotten bit of flesh? This excrement? I could never decide what was worse, knowing he associated with mudbloods and peasants at school, or actually seeing him polluting my house with his rancid thoughts and words.”

He turned for the first time to glare at Sirius head-on. “You brought nothing but dishonor and shame to our family! The happiest day of my life was when you left, when we were finally rid of you!”

Sirius felt his stomach curling in knots. It was all he could do to remain expressionless, trading stare for stare with his father.

Arcturus chuckled darkly. “But, life does have its little ironies, doesn’t it, you foul worm? I was overjoyed to learn that your friends, the half-breed abominations and mudblood filth with which you surrounded yourself, believed you to be a traitor and sent you to Azkaban. At the end of my life, it comforted me to know that you were paying a price for betrayal. Even though they imprisoned you for the wrong crime, you deserved whatever tortures you suffered. My one regret was that I was not the one to inflict them on you!”

Lucretia Black rose and slowly approached her son. The disgust twisting her features was so familiar. Sirius couldn’t remember how old he had been the last time he had received praise or even a simple smile from either of his parents. It must have been during his first or second year at Hogwarts. After that, he considered himself lucky if all he got were frowns of disapproval. He was surprised at how much it still hurt.

“I had such high hopes for this son. I was so proud when I bore him. Little did I know he was vermin. A blood traitor. Had I realized it, I would have snapped his neck like a twig and tossed him out with the trash. We raised both our sons the same. One grew strong and respectful, following in our footsteps. He had pride in our family. He recognized the importance of blood purity. He knew that the impure must be kept in their place or their grasping, puny hands would destroy us and all we’ve built. He was my pride, my joy, and my brilliant star. My sweet Regulus deserved to live, but, no! He was cut down so young, while you, you wretched, ungrateful cur, you lived! I hated you for it! I’m sure you laughed with your stinking mudblood friends when you heard about your brother! Didn’t you? Didn’t you?!” Her voice rose in a shriek.

Attempting to keep his voice level, Sirius replied. “No. I felt sorry for where his choices led him.”

“He chose right!”

“He chose to follow Voldemort, and realized too late what that would entail!”

“It was a mistake. They didn’t mean to kill him.”

Her blindness infuriated him. “Yes, they did! And you’re partially to blame, for filling his head with your precious pureblood nonsense. All it ever meant to you was privilege. Achievement and ability meant nothing! Knowledge and skill meant nothing! All that mattered was who married whom. You felt you were entitled to wealth and position because you could trace the labyrinth of your family tree back to the Middle Ages. You didn’t tell Regulus that Voldemort used blood purity as a starting point. You didn’t tell him that Voldemort expected him to slaughter people on the basis of their ancestry. And he couldn’t do it. He didn’t carry the blind hate that would let him break into a house where a woman sat with her children and kill them, simply because they were not pure!” Sirius practically spat at her.

Livid, Lucretia’s eyes bugged, her fingers twitched as if she longed to claw her talons across her son’s face. “And what did you care? He was your little brother and he needed help and you-“

Sirius interrupted. “He thought he could make a run for it and get out of the country. He didn’t want them to be able to trace the use of his wand, so he needed a new one. He needed money. He needed an illegal portkey set up, and he needed it all in a matter of hours. Yes, he needed help. And he came to me to get it! Well, I got all of it for him. And I waited for him all afternoon and through the night at our secret meeting place. But, he never showed up because he was already dead!”

Lucretia’s rage had disappeared, replaced by a desperate whimpering. “No, that’s not true. He wouldn’t have gone to you for help, he would have come to us. He would have-“

“It **is** true, Mum.” A clear voice rang out from the back of the room, and a tall, black-haired young man stood up in the corner. Sirius gasped to see the face of his younger brother, still with the shades of innocence in his features, unmarked by the ravages of time or age or prison. Regulus Black walked out of the cluster of the ancient dead. He came forward to look closely at his elder brother, the one person his parents had insisted he not emulate. He wished he hadn’t listened to them quite so slavishly. Sirius felt his throat seize up. Regulus had been so young. 

Regulus turned to the Judge. “My brother had sworn to fight against the terror of the Death Eaters. But, he refused to turn his back on me when I needed help.” Regulus’ ghostly eyes searched his brother’s face. “I know you paid dearly for crimes you never committed. And helping me planted seeds of suspicion about you among your friends. You risked your life and your freedom for me, Sirius. I never got the chance to thank you. So, I thank you now.”

“I’m sorry, Regulus. I’m sorry we ran out of time.”

Regulus suddenly smiled with all the radiant beauty inherent in his family. “We’ll have time again. But, not right away. You’re a good man, and you still have much to give. You should be sent back to the other side of the veil.”

It was perhaps the nicest thing any of his family had ever said to Sirius. He sprang to his feet, arms stretched out to embrace his younger brother. But, Regulus stepped back, shaking his head. “Not now, Sirius. Later. When your life is truly over.”

Lucretia and Arcturus abruptly sat down, stunned by their younger son’s sudden alliance with his brother. Sirius, too, slowly returned to his seat, his eyes never leaving the vibrant form of his brother as Regulus returned to the back of the room.

Alphard Black rose, smiled winningly at the Judge and beamed at his favorite nephew. Of all the beings in the room, he seemed most as ease. 

“I only wish to make one small but very important point. My nephew Sirius has already touched on it, and I think it should be uppermost in all our minds. Achievement, knowledge, and skill do mean something. So do compassion, empathy and the struggle to do what is right. The reason that Cognatus Putus exists is to grant life back to one who will use his power and ability for the good of all. It is not simply a way to ensure the bloodline continues. Those of pure blood are duty-bound to give of themselves, and not to simply sit back on their over-privileged arses expecting that they should get rewards and distinctions and status simply because they’ve made the right marriages.”

A threatening growl rolled through the room at Alphard’s words. He smiled even more brightly.

“Oh, I know you hate to hear it. But it’s true! The great majority of you are a bunch of blood-sucking maggots that have lost the ideals of why the pureblood families even existed. Sirius embodies many of those qualities. His tenacious adherence to them even while his closest relations mocked and abused him only proves his worthiness.”

Alphard sat down to a chorus of shouts and boos and hisses.

And so it continued. One by one the ancestral spirits rose. Some merely voiced their opinion. Some questioned Sirius, and some berated him. Others spoke in his favor. He noted that most of those relatives were from centuries past and he had no clue exactly who they were.

The last to rise was his great-great-grandfather Phineas Nigellus. Phineas straightened his jacket and smoothed his gloves. Then he peered closely at Sirius through his sharp, fox-like eyes. “Quite frankly, the mere fact that you’re a Gryffindor is almost enough for me to vote to send you to Hell, if that was an option. As it’s not, I regretfully must agree with the more noxious members of the family and petition that you be granted your life. The line must not end! I would wish the last son had more admirable qualities than you, but, as you’re our only hope, we must accept you, as peculiar and difficult as you are.”

Phineas returned haughtily to his seat. Sirius couldn’t decide whether his response should be “Thank you” or “Fuck you” so he remained quiet.

The Judge spoke. “It is time for you to make your wishes known. Those who wish to invoke Cognatus Putus to grant life to Sirius Black stand and be counted.”

Sirius forced himself to remain impassive, as his eyes swept quickly over the room. Less than half of those gathered were on their feet.

“Those do not wish to invoke the pact, stand and be counted.”

Their hatred of him extended beyond the grave. They had been given one final forum in which to reject him and they had seized it. They loathed him more than they loved their own blood. Sirius struggled in vain not to think of Remus and Harry, but his sorrow and hurt were all too obvious, much to his vengeful relatives’ delight. They laughed, happy to find a target for their mockery in death as they had in life. 

“May I speak, Judge?”

Sirius glanced towards the voice and saw the Guardian who had met him when he came through the veil. 

The Judge nodded. Silence fell over the gathered spirits.

“This man voiced deep regrets when he first arrived. He wished with all his heart to return to the living, not to regain what he had lost, but to pay the debts he still owes and make right the wrongs he believes he has done to others.”

The Judge nodded again and then sat motionless for several long moments. Finally she rose slowly to tower regally above them. She turned to Sirius. “I have weighed the opinions of your ancestors. I have heard your words, from your own mouth and from what the Guardian tells us. I have examined the length of your years on earth and balanced your failings and your sins against your accomplishments and your grace. I find that the latter far outweigh the former. You have a greater understanding of the duties and obligations of the pure of blood than do most of your family. And, although you do not recognize this purity as the most vital ingredient of a person, you have taken to heart the essence of what it meant in times long past. And that is sufficient reason for me to ignore the wishes of your ancestors and to invoke the pact of Cognatus Putus.”

Everything in his heart and mind and soul melded together in one glorious explosion of relief. “Thank you,” he whispered in the most heartfelt gratitude he’d ever experienced. 

“He must take a vow!” The harsh tones of Lucretia Black rang out. 

“What vow do you wish him to take?” The Judge seemed amenable to whatever sick idea his mother had come up with.

“He must promise to marry a pureblood daughter from a noble house and to raise a family to carry on the family name.”

Sirius tried to hide his dismay. The Judge had overruled them but still they sought to shackle him to the destiny they always wanted for him. Sirius remembered the Judge’s words to the hostile spirit. “Only a fool would not raise questions.” He shifted in his chair to face her.

“Judge, may I propose my own vow?”

Was that a twitch at the corner of her mouth? “You may.”

“I promise to bind myself for my lifetime and after my death, to a person of pure heart, whose ideals and actions reflect the best aspects of the blood purity out of which this pact arose.”

Yes, that was a definite twitch. Was he crazy or was the Judge trying to hide a smile?

“Your vow is accepted.”

She knew, Sirius realized. Well, of course she knew. If she could examine the entire record of his days, she must know about Remus. 

“There is one final condition required by the pact,” the Judge said. “The return of the dead to life is not undertaken lightly by the powers. It is a gift not granted to any mortals other than pureblood wizards. A price must be paid for this gift in recognition that the time given back to you is precious beyond measure. Your normal life span will be cut in half. Instead of a life of 150 or so years, you will die at around half that age. This requirement is immutable. Should you refuse to accept this, you will be allowed to continue on your journey through the afterlife.”

Sirius needed no time to consider this caveat. “I accept.”

“Very well. The pact has been invoked, a vow has been made and the final condition accepted. I grant you your life, Sirius Black.”

Sirius couldn’t take his eyes off the Judge. His tried to force his scattershot thoughts into a semblance of order. He was happy, grateful, and felt profoundly unworthy to have been granted such a gift. Glancing towards his family, his brain momentarily shut down. The room was empty. His head snapped back towards the Judge. She was still there.

“Where…? Thank you…My brother…I’d like to talk…Where did they go?”

An exaggerated sigh from behind him clued him in to the continued presence of that curmudgeonly spirit.

“Their presence is no longer required.”

Sirius tried to take comfort from the thought that some day he would again see Regulus, and they would finally be able to lay to rest all the misunderstandings of their blighted youth.

“What happens now? How do I go back?”

The Judge suddenly smiled and it was as if a warm spring sun had cast its glow over the winter-weary earth. “You will be sent back at the appropriate time. Forces unseen to mortals govern this world, the world beyond life. You can only return at certain times, when the veil between the worlds is at its thinnest. At the feast of Samhain, we will send you back. You must wait here until then.”

Sirius was sure that, sooner or later, his questions would make the spirit hovering behind him hit him over the head. He asked anyway. “What day is it now, in the living world?”

The Judge only said, “You will be sent back soon.”

She turned away and Sirius knew she would vanish, like every other entity in this place. He was overwhelmed by a sense of urgency and disquiet. “Thank you,” he said, rising to his feet. 

She had already started to fade, but suddenly her outline became clearer. “Something distresses you.”

He once more tried to gather his thoughts, which flitted about like autumn leaves blown by the wind. “It’s so unfair that a handful of people…souls…can be granted their lives back. Why, when so many others are more deserving of life, why is it fair that I benefit from this?”

“Is life always fair? Or death? You have only to look at your own experiences to answer those questions. You have been told why Cognatus Putus came into being eons ago. That is all that matters. It has nothing to do with fairness.”

“Then, why did you let me propose my own vow? Why didn’t you insist that I accept my mother’s wording? Surely you realize that the blood line will end with my death.”

“The pact’s sole purpose is to grant life back to the last son. It makes no demands on whether or not he should procreate. When Cognatus Putus was established, the purebloods assumed that a family’s last son would seek to continue his family line. They saw no need to make that a requirement.”

“As far as the vow is concerned,” she shrugged, “nothing prohibits the last son from proposing his own vow. It’s always amazed me that so few think to do so.” She glanced at the impatient spirit fidgeting behind Sirius. “Only a fool would hesitate to ask questions. And you are not a fool, Sirius Black.”

“I…well…thank you.” He knew he would not see her again. “I will use the time given to me as best I can.”

She was gone.

Sirius turned to the pale blue spirit, ready to be scolded again. Frowning impressively, the spirit merely said, “Come.”

And in moments, or hours, or days, Sirius found himself in a small, rectangular, colorless room. It was dimly lit from an unseen source, with only a single chair in the middle of the floor. He was utterly alone. He paced out the dimensions of the room. His footsteps sounded unnaturally loud in an otherwise silent world. As he reached each wall, he pressed a hand against it, testing its solidity, seeking a hidden doorway. The walls were unyielding with no exit that he could detect. It unnerved him that the dimensions of the room were the same as his cell in Azkaban. 

He paced rapidly back and forth, seeking to grasp at a thought, any thought, to drive away the panic that flooded through him. He hadn’t been caged; he was simply in a waiting room. Don’t think about cells. Don’t think about eternity in a cell. Think about something else.

He started talking to himself. “Harry. List everything I know about Harry. He’s almost sixteen. Or, wait. Maybe by now he’s already turned sixteen. If I only knew what day it was. Harry’s birthday is July 31. He is the only child of James and Lily Evans Potter. He has black hair like James, and green eyes like Lily. He lives at 4 Privet Drive in Little Whinging in Surrey.” And when he was done with Harry, Sirius said, “Remus,” and repeated the exercise. He went through name after name after name. And after pacing for moments or hours or days, Sirius sat on the chair, trying to ignore his total isolation. He would wait patiently, he told himself. It was a small room. It was not a cell. It was not a cell. He waited.

It was not a cell.


	4. Part 4

A Plan

Remus enjoyed the mild summer night as he walked through the ancient gates towards the Castle. He made frequent trips between Hogwarts and the continent on the Order’s business, as a fair amount of his assignments now dealt with liaison work between English wizards and their counterparts in Europe. The Europeans needed to be kept aware of Death Eater activities and it was also important to gather information from them. Remus realized he could accomplish this just as easily working from the Order’s London base, but he suspected Dumbledore wished to spare him having to spend any more time than necessary at 12 Grimmauld Place. As a result, Remus frequently occupied a suite of rooms not far from the Headmaster’s quarters. 

He had just arrived from Paris where he had met with a small group of French and German wizards who had gathered evidence of increased use of Dark Magic in their own countries. None of the news was definitive, but Remus was sure that it would find its place in the pattern of what they were beginning to understand about Voldemort’s plans.

Remus hoped Dumbledore wouldn’t want to spend hours going over his information. It was late and quite frankly, he was looking forward to a good, long sleep in a comfortable Hogwarts bed. 

The moving staircase brought him to Albus’ door, which stood ajar. Someone other than the Headmaster was speaking. Remus hesitated a second, then tapped on the door and poked his head around it in time to hear “-cheeky enough to propose his own vow! Such a deplorable lack of manners!”

The speaker was a huffy Phineas Nigellus, who scowled at Remus’ interruption.

“Come in, Remus!” Albus positively beamed from behind his desk. “Phineas was giving me most welcome news!”

The long-dead Headmaster’s elegant brows arched in disdain. “Welcome news to you lot, no doubt! You have the same warped attitudes as my reprehensible great-great-grandson. It’s no wonder he was such a hellion at school, Albus, with you as his Headmaster. I cannot begin to tell you how disturbed I was to have to plead for his miserable life to be given back to him. How I wished he deserved such a gift! But, what else could I do? He is the last Black.”

Remus’ heart beat faster as the import of this little speech hit him. “Are you saying that Sirius…”

Phineas’ glare suddenly transformed into a cold smile, which Remus did not find at all comforting. “Ah, yes, the werewolf. Honestly, Albus, you have a lot to answer for!”

“What Phineas is quite deliberately not telling you, Remus, is that the pact of Cognatus Putus has been invoked, but not through the intercession of Sirius’ ancestors. I understand that, while a fair number of them supported Sirius, a greater number of them did not.”

“But, then how-“

“Obviously, the higher powers did not listen to the family’s wishes!” Phineas scoffed at Remus’ obtuseness. “He was found worthy in spite of himself. He did seem to get on quite well with the Judge. Although, perhaps that’s not too surprising; the boy always had a certain talent for charming those in authority.”

Remus kept his expression impassive, but a surreptitious glance at Albus confirmed his suspicions. Albus, too, realized that, in spite of his fulminating, Phineas was pleased about Sirius’ imminent return. 

“That’s it, then. He returns on Halloween at dusk in the stone circle at Castlerigg. Now, I need some rest.” And with that Phineas became quite motionless and astoundingly portrait-like.

Albus rose and came around his desk to stand in front of Remus. He placed an old, but still strong hand on the younger man’s shoulder. Now that Phineas was silent, Remus’ feelings bubbled to the surface. His face reflected hope and disbelief and a mute plea for reassurance that he had not heard incorrectly.

“He’s coming home, Remus. We’ll have him back in a few months.”

A fierce protectiveness flared through Remus and he glowered at Dumbledore through the tears that had welled up in his eyes. “Yes, Albus, **I’ll** have him back. And I won’t permit you or anyone else to lock him up in Grimmauld Place. Don’t even think about caging him in that tomb of a house!”

Albus neatly undercut Remus’ anger. “I won’t, Remus. I made a grave mistake with Sirius, and, rest assured I will apologize to him as soon as I can. He can stay here. I have thought of a task for which he is very well suited.”

Dumbledore outlined his plan. Sirius could not be an effective member of the Order if he was forced to stay in hiding. And, the only way to combat that was to clear his name and restore his freedom. Peter Pettigrew had to be brought to justice. Sirius’ mission would be to find Peter. And, since only Remus, Albus, and Harry would know anything of Sirius’ return, certainly the Death Eaters would never expect a dead man to be hunting Wormtail.

“But, Albus, what about Mrs. Black? She must be screaming her displeasure to the world, so Kreacher knows, too! What about the other portraits? They can talk to anyone who goes into that house!”

“Kreacher can no longer leave that building. I’ve placed both a Non-Apparition Charm and a Boundary Charm on him, which prevents him from leaving the property, unless I or a living member of the Black family returns to that house and releases him. As for Mrs. Black? Who is there to hear her but other members of the Order? If she starts shrieking about Sirius coming back from beyond the grave, do you think people will believe her or think she is delusional?”

Remus thought of another complication. “Narcissa Malfoy! She may have portraits of Black ancestors at her house!” 

But, once again, Dumbledore was way ahead of him. “I instructed Phineas to check on that. Perhaps not surprisingly, all of the portraits in that house are Malfoys.”

Somewhat reassured, Remus turned his attention to the small matter of keeping Sirius hidden or disguised from unfriendly eyes while he hunted Peter. 

Albus eyes’ fairly danced in his head. “As to that, I have a suggestion to make to Mr. Black when he returns. I suspect he’ll find it almost irresistible.”

A slow smile spread across Remus’ face when he heard the key piece of the old wizard’s plan. “Oh, yes, Albus. This idea will make Sirius salivate like Padfoot scenting a savory bowl of fresh meat.”

Remus envisioned the eager, anticipatory expression on Sirius’ face. He imagined the aqua-gray eyes sparkling at the challenge and practically felt the vibrations in the air of a man who now had a purpose and a goal. And then another thought crossed his mind and he felt guilty about not thinking it sooner.

“What about Harry? When will we tell Harry?”

“Harry is not yet where he needs to be with his Occlumency skills. He must prove himself more impervious to Voldemort’s mental probing before we can safely tell him about Sirius.”

“He’s making progress, isn’t he?”

“Yes, he’s coming along nicely. He should be quite capable of hiding this sort of secret within himself by the time he returns to school. I’m sure we’ll be able to rely on Harry to do whatever he can to protect Sirius.”

“And, as Sirius will be staying at Hogwarts, I assume Harry will be able to see him most days.”

Dumbledore nodded. “They will have some much needed time together. I’ll let it be known that I’m personally giving Harry extra instruction to provide him with an excuse to frequent this part of the castle.”

A little while later, Remus stood at the darkened window of his bedroom staring into the night. Snatches of the conversation with Albus and snippets of Phineas’ information swam to the surface of his brain. He felt if he closed his eyes and reached out his hands he’d feel a whisper of warm skin or silken, black hair. Sirius was just out of reach.

And still part of him feared to accept what he’d been told. If something unexpected happened and Sirius didn’t return, then surely his mind would snap. He wouldn’t be able to bear it. He felt impaled on his longing for his lover, as if a lance speared straight through his body, anchoring him to the earth. 

There was no moon. The stardust strewn across the black velvet sky bathed the earth in silver. And, that most brilliant of stars would return to him. He could not let himself completely believe it. He wouldn’t believe it until he saw Sirius, held his body close, tasted his kiss. If only he could have some sign, something to hold onto until the end of October. Remus leaned forward, his ears straining to hear a beloved voice whisper, “I’m coming home…”

All he heard was the night song of insects and the gentle rustling of leaves.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Visitor

Harry lay on his back, staring at his bedroom ceiling. He did a lot of that these days. He drifted through time, waiting. Waiting for the Daily Prophet, waiting for Hedwig to return from delivering messages, waiting for the days to pass until he could go to the Burrow for the last few weeks of summer vacation. 

Harry was ambivalent about that visit. On one hand, it would be great to get away from Privet Drive. But, on the other, he didn’t think he could deal with the Weasleys walking on eggshells around him, unsure of whether they should mention Sirius’ name or pretend he never existed. Harry knew they’d try to take their cues from him, and, quite frankly, whether or not he wanted to talk about Sirius changed by the hour. And, now there was a thought that always lurked at the back of his mind, droning like a busy bee. At what point would the Weasleys become targets of the Death Eaters because they were close to Harry?

Life at Privet Drive had never been so good. The Dursleys no longer gave him long lists of chores. In fact, they acknowledged his existence as little as possible. Their fear of having a coven of wizards and witches descend on them because of possible mistreatment of Harry was a greater motivating force than their desire to be mean to him. Uncle Vernon came close to giving himself a stroke at the effort of pretending to be nice to Harry whenever they got near each other. Dudley simply lurked in the background, trying to stay as far away as possible. Aunt Petunia hid her dislike and fear, and only interacted with Harry when absolutely necessary. 

The torpor of his days was disturbed twice a week for Occlumency lessons. Harry’s teacher was Patty Robertson, a short, plump Canadian witch who bubbled over with good cheer and grandmotherly smiles. Dumbledore had recruited her for her impressive knowledge of high-level mental defense training. She was an incongruity to Harry. He always thought of fresh-baked cookies whenever he saw her, until he remembered Dumbledore’s implication that she had served her own Ministry in an obscure office which had no known function, except that whenever they were assigned to investigate known Death Eaters, those people invariably turned up dead.

Patty was a combination of sweet and tough. She used exercises that got progressively harder, forcing Harry to reach past the limits of his strength to combat her. She was able to judge the line beyond which Harry would fail. And, she’d push him just far enough beyond, but not too far. With Remus’ encouragement, he also made the effort to practice the exercises she gave him to strengthen his skills. At least it helped take his mind off Sirius and the acidic tang of guilt he tasted whenever he thought about his own role in his godfather’s death.

Harry had come to treasure Remus’ support. He occasionally visited, when his Order assignments permitted. And he always replied promptly to Harry’s letters. Remus wrote long responses in his elegant script, his words organized and thoughtful, like a scholarly paper. He usually included stories about Harry’s parents and Sirius. Harry wondered if that made Remus miss Sirius any less, or if he, too, kept ripping the scabs off the wounds he suffered. 

But, there were days when Harry fell into a downward spiral of guilt and self-blame. He chewed on all of the “if onlys,” placing the heaviest blame on his own actions and omissions. Then, the heat of summer and his own depressed thoughts weighed on him like heavy chains, making it almost impossible to rise from his bed.

While a fair amount of Harry’s days were spent comfortably numb, his nights were an entirely different matter. He dreaded going to sleep, fearing where his dreams would take him. Over and over again, he found himself in the Department of Mysteries, running blindly, knowing that if he moved just a little faster, he would get there in time to save Sirius. So often he’d reach the door of the Death Room, only to hear Sirius’ laughing voice say, “Come on, you can do better than that!” 

And Harry’s stumbling feet would lurch him into the room in time to see Sirius fall through the veil. He would scream Sirius’ name, but his voice would be drowned out by Bellatrix Lestrange’s triumphant shriek. Jolted awake, sweaty and shaking, Harry’s throat would ache from his subconscious effort to smother his own voice. He never went back to sleep after those nightmares. He wondered if there would ever come a time when he’d dream of his godfather and see his pale eyes gleam with amusement and hear his barking laugh. Or was he condemned to relive Sirius’ death forever?

In early August Harry received an unexpectedly terse note from Lupin.

Harry,

I need to discuss something with you. Please let me know when would be a good time to visit.

Remus

Harry couldn’t decide whether this sounded ominous, or if Remus simply had something to say that he didn’t want to trust to parchment.

Regardless, several days later found Remus sitting with Harry in the Dursleys’ kitchen. Harry’s relatives had gone out to a matinee, sidling out the door and trying to keep as far away as possible from Remus. Harry couldn’t help smirking at the thought of how quickly the Dursleys would move if they knew the prematurely worn man in their kitchen was a werewolf.

“Can I get you anything to eat, Remus?” Harry asked. His ex-professor looked only slightly better than when they had met at Sirius’ memorial. 

Remus declined the offer. He saw the worried look settle on Harry’s face. The boy had dark smudges under his eyes. His skin was pale and his hair limp and dull. Remus sighed, knowing he was about to ruin the one last bit of potential happiness Harry had for the summer.

“Harry, I didn’t want to send you a letter about this. I thought you deserved to be told face-to-face.”

He hated seeing the immediate wary tension that took over the teen’s body. “Did something happen? Is everyone-“

“Everyone’s fine, Harry. Nothing has happened.” 

Harry could see in Remus’ face that the older man was sorry about what he was going to say.

“The long and short of it is that you can’t stay at the Burrow this summer.”

“Why not?” Harry practically yelped.

“The Death Eaters have become a little more active lately. And you are the target they most desire. The Burrow simply doesn’t have enough protections on it for your safety. It will take a good bit of time to fortify that house, and none of us can be spared right now to do it.”

“But, what about the Weasleys? If the Burrow isn’t safe for me, it’s not safe for them, either. What’s to stop Voldemort from attacking them? They’re probably targets, too.”

‘Why should any kid have to go through this,’ Remus wondered.

“You’re quite right, Harry. That’s why they spend most of their time at the Order’s Headquarters. Fred and George are relatively safe, since the Death Eaters are not strong enough or organized enough to carry out a raid in the middle of Diagon Alley. But, the Burrow is isolated and that makes it a convenient target. Luckily, perhaps, Molly’s and Arthur’s tasks for the Order are such that it makes sense for them to stay in London. But, even though you can’t go to the Burrow, there is no reason why you couldn’t join Ron and Ginny and Hermione at Headquarters.”

Harry blanched and turned away. Remus understood the feeling. He spent as little time there as possible, even now, when he knew that Sirius would return to them. The heavy, brooding atmosphere of that house chilled him to the bone. Maybe he imagined it, but it seemed to Remus that the silent, malevolent shades of Sirius’ bloody-minded ancestors bristled with hostility, knowing that the last Black had escaped their clutches and their designs once again. Remus loathed the stale, moldy, claustrophobic feel of the place and the weight of centuries of hatred directed at the person most dear to him. Remus avoided Grimmauld Place whenever possible. 

”I won’t go back there, Remus, not unless it’s absolutely crucial.” Harry suddenly raised his eyes from his feet and fixed them on Remus. It was disturbing to see Lily’s eyes fired by the sort of desperate intensity James’ expression would take on in times of danger. “I can’t go back there just to hang out and visit, like I’m supposed to be on a vacation trip. Even with Ron and Hermione there, I can’t do it. I don’t want to think about…”

Abruptly he stopped and turned away, his breath coming in small, hitched gasps. 

Remus understood Harry’s feelings all too well. “I know, Harry. I try to avoid that place myself. But, I’m afraid there are really no alternatives. You know, it might help to spend some time with people who know what happened, and have some sense of what you’re going through.”

“No.” The quiet finality of the word surprised Remus. He had expected anger and shouting. This deliberate and determined response, and the grave expression on Harry’s face as he uttered it showed a measure of the distance the boy had already traveled this summer along his own peculiarly lonely road to maturity.

“It’s not always wise to cut oneself off from people who care about us,” Remus encouraged gently.

“How much time do you spend with other people, if you’re not dealing with Order business?” Harry challenged.

Remus knew he was caught. “Not much,” he admitted. “On the other hand, I’m used to living a fairly solitary life and relying on my own devices. But, it’s not an easy path to take. And I hate to see you choose it this early in your life.”

Harry shrugged. “I’ll be with people again once school starts. It’s not all that long from now.”

‘I wish I could tell you, Harry,’ Remus thought and bit back the words that had sprung to the tip of his tongue. He reached out and gently pushed a particularly errant lock of Harry’s hair back were it belonged. Harry’s eyes widened in surprise at the gesture. “I wish I could do more for you, Harry.” 

That at least raised a small smile on the boy’s face. “You’ve really done alright this summer, Remus.”

Then he turned and looked at the calendar. August was slowly creeping away.


	5. Part 5

Early Autumn Vignettes

Time crawled. 

Harry read the Daily Prophet, wondering about the occasional stories of unexplained assaults. 

Remus read reports and discussed with Order members the significance of a series of random attacks on wizards, both pure blood and mixed.

Sirius constructed carefully reasoned treatises in his head on which was worse: the isolation of his room or the absolute silence.

Time slowly slipped away. The heat of July and August gave way to the clear skies of September. 

Harry’s trip on the Hogwarts Express back to school made him feel as if it had been years since he’d been on that train. 

Finally having some spare time, Remus went with several other trusted Order members to fortify The Burrow for the Weasleys. They spent the better part of a week bolstering the building’s defenses. Remus had the feeling that prolonged exposure to 12 Grimmauld Place was finally making Molly crack. He understood and he pitied her.

Sirius wished he had musical skills. Then at least he could occupy his time turning his life into “The Ballad of Sirius Black.”

Hours of days invariably darkened into eons of night.

Nightmares. Again and again, throat aching from his smothered screams, he strained against the strong grip and saw the slow, graceful fall through the veil.

Alone in his bed, he tossed restlessly through the interminable hours before dawn, aching for the warm presence of another, for the feel of long, skilled fingers drifting across his body.

Idle thoughts circled like vultures, and he wondered how much of his sanity he’d still have when he crossed back through the veil.

Hogwarts no longer felt quite safe, Harry thought. Students still laughed and joked, but there was an air of desperation, as if they willfully pulled blinders over their eyes, denying that their childhood monsters had already crawled out from under their beds.

They stood on the verge of a precipice, as they had some twenty years ago. Remus knew the killings would soon start, along with the fear and suspicion. He wasn’t sure if he’d escape or if, this time, he’d fall to his death. The uncertainty, the sick anticipation would be so much easier to bear, if only he was not alone.

Sitting in limbo, Sirius wondered at how far their lives had moved forward. Surely they hadn’t forgotten him. Or, had the powers controlling his own fate forgotten that he was locked in this…room? 

Harry’s Occlumency lessons continued under the tutelage of Albus Dumbledore. Their first meeting had been strained, but Harry discovered that if he concentrated on his lesson and shut off any dialog about himself, it became much easier. Dumbledore noticed and silently mourned the change that Harry’s path in life had forced on him. 

Remus shivered. The raw, damp night felt much more like November than early October. He hated spending hours on reconnaissance, especially when he could be in a snug be at Hogwarts or comfortable inn in France, but it was his turn. And it was better than sleeping alone.

Sirius saw pieces of his life in front of him, as if a film played intermittent scenes on the blank walls. The good scenes made him smile, but he found himself paying more attention to his misdeeds. He urged himself not to make the wrong choice, but, time and again, he did.

Quidditch. Fast and sure, under an azure sky. Instinct and reaction. The pleasure of losing himself in speed and motion and his own pure reflexes.

The foul potion. He swallowed it without a flicker of distaste to reveal his thoughts. “Thank you, Severus,” was all he said before he rose to go to his room – their room – for his transformation, where Moony would spend the night keening for the loss of Padfoot.

Silence. The deadened silence would surely drive him mad.

“Harry, you’re hardly blocking me at all,” the Headmaster said, seeing the picture in Harry’s mind as bright and clear as when it first happened. Sirius fell gracefully through the veil. “It’s four months to the day,” Harry replied.

Why was he standing here knocking on this door? What difference could he possibly make? He had to try. It was a way to attempt to make amends for his hostility, his anger. “Professor Lupin!” Percy Weasley exclaimed. Without waiting for an invitation, Remus entered the flat. Gravely regarding the younger man he said, “I want to talk to you about your parents.”

Sirius sifted through his memories. He had done some horrible things in his life. Some had been inadvertent, but others had been deliberate. Quite viciously deliberate. It wasn’t too late to try to set some of those wrongs to right, was it?

For the thousandth time, he pulled the mirror out. Its shards had repaired seamlessly. It flashed brightly. It was useless.

The trees of the Forbidden Forest preened, gloriously radiant in the colors of autumn. He had fallen in love in autumn, so many years ago, not with colors, but with Black. And now, in autumn, his dark lover would return. Wouldn’t he?

Loyalty, courage, tenacious inner strength, and a deep, boundless love for some. Ruthlessness, anger, an unwillingness to forgive, and the cold ability to wield any of them like a sword against those he hated. Never before had he seen so clearly into the flawed, cracked diamonds of his heart and soul.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hope

Harry trudged through the halls on his way to Albus Dumbledore’s office for his Occlumency lesson. Tomorrow was Halloween and Harry hadn’t come up with a plausible excuse for not attending Hogwarts’ Halloween party. Simply telling his friends he didn’t want to go would make them feel compelled to stay behind with him, which wasn’t fair to them. Or, they’d badger and hound him until he agreed to go, which wasn’t fair to him. 

Deliberately getting detention wouldn’t work, either, because the Professors attended the party. Any assigned detentions wouldn’t start until the following night. He might be forced to use one of his Weasely Skiving Snacks to make himself ill. The box had been sitting in his trunk, untouched, since school started. Maybe Ron and Hermione wouldn’t realize that he’d swallowed one. 

Harry’s glum thoughts flew out of his head when he saw who sat with Dumbledore in the Headmaster’s office. A bright smile bloomed as he affectionately greeted Remus Lupin. Neither adult commented on it, but both knew it was now a seldom-seen expression.

“Please sit down, Harry,” Dumbledore said. Harry did just that, glancing between them, sensing an undercurrent of anticipation and excitement. Remus practically vibrated with barely contained emotions.

Then Harry received the biggest surprise of his life. More astounding than discovering he had a natural talent for Quidditch. More overwhelming than realizing he was a wizard. Speechless with shock, he sat there completely numb. Surely, they meant what they told him. This wasn’t some sick Halloween joke. But, this…this…things like this didn’t happen. People didn’t come back to life.

Harry’s eyes were blank in his impassive face as his gaze flitted from one man to the other. Dumbledore, radiating patient kindness, simply waited for Harry’s questions to begin. Remus remained outwardly calm, but now Harry understood the whirlwind of emotions that buffeted him inside.

Choosing his words carefully, Harry spoke. “So what you’re telling me is that this ancient pact was called into play, and Sirius’ family requested that he be given his life back?”

A dismissive sniff came from Harry’s left.

“Phineas, do you have something to say?” Albus enquired politely.

The portrait’s fine features wrinkled into a frown. “Idiot boy! You’ve only grasped

part of what you’ve been told! Typical student behavior. Why bother listening to and learning from your elders? After all, what does it matter if you get the details wrong?”

Harry shot out of his chair, his skin flushed with sudden anger. He addressed the supercilious ex-Headmaster in a voice tight with suppressed emotion. “Anything to do with Sirius matters to me! He matters to me! A damn sight more than he ever mattered to his family!”

A flash of something akin to approval flickered across the portrait’s face as Phineas picked non-existent lint off his sleeve. Lazily, he said, “As it happens, young man, **I** voted in favor of granting Sirius his life back.” His smile was chilly. “It’s not my fault that most of the rest of the Blacks, including his own parents, abhor your godfather.”

Harry glowered. “I bet you did that just because you didn’t want the family name to die out. Not because you care one bit about Sirius.”

“Perhaps you’re smarter than I thought,” Phineas mused. “Or maybe you’re starting to grow up. It’s about time.”

Dumbledore interrupted as Harry drew breath to retort. “Thank you for your comments, Phineas. But, now, we must make some plans that, I’m sure, are of no interest to you.”

“Fine.” Phineas bit off the word like teeth severing bone. “I know when I’ve been dismissed.” And his features became immobile.

Harry was still trying to come to terms with the news they had given him, as Dumbledore talked about dusk and portkeys and stone circles. Sirius was coming back. Alive. Harry hardly dared to believe that in just over twenty-four hours, he’d be standing somewhere in the Lake District waiting to greet his godfather. His living godfather. He’d again hear that bark of a laugh and see a smile warm the wasted face. And, maybe this time the smile wouldn’t be shadowed with pain and regret. Maybe this one time it would light up like a Christmas tree. Like showers of stars and firelight on crystal.

But, then the worm suddenly turned. “You’ve known about this for a while, haven’t you,” Harry said flatly. He spoke to both of them, but his eyes rested on Remus. 

And nodding, Remus answered him evenly, although he saw the knowledge of betrayal in Harry’s face. “We’ve known for several months. Keep in mind that Sirius is not a free man. Officially, he is still considered a fugitive mass murderer by the Ministry, since they have no proof of his innocence and no evidence of his death. So, he is still at risk from his own government. The Death Eaters think he’s dead. But they would do everything in their power to use him as bait to get you, if they discovered that he was alive. Sirius’ greatest protection now is that so few people will know he has returned.”

“Do they really think I’d fall into that trap again?”

Remus shrugged. “It worked for them once, even though their mission was ultimately thwarted. They might very well try again.”

“And, once Sirius is back,” Dumbledore added, “I have an assignment for him that will require the utmost secrecy. I’m sorry, Harry. We couldn’t risk telling you until you became a powerful enough Occlumens to hide that knowledge within yourself, should Voldemort come prying.”

Harry digested this for several moments. “And you think I’m powerful enough now?”

“You’re very strong, Harry,” Dumbledore replied. “You’re not quite where I’d like you to be, but you’re very, very close. Plus, you have the ability to compartmentalize your mind. The things you feel strongest about, your greatest fears and your deepest attachments, are the things I have the most trouble seeing. This revelation about Sirius can also be hidden behind those walls, thus helping to keep him safe.”

A determined frown wrinkled the black brows. “I won’t tell a soul about this, not even Ron or Hermione. I caused Sirius’ death once. It’s not going to happen again. Not if I can help it.”

Remus was about to argue with Harry about his self-blame when Dumbledore suddenly turned towards Harry and impaled the boy with a steely gaze.

Harry instantly snapped into defense mode, quicker even than Sirius turning into Padfoot. Fascinated, Remus watched Dumbledore try to probe into Harry’s mind while Harry sought to bar his entrance. 

And, just as suddenly, the contact between them ceased. Dumbledore smiled. “Very good, Mr. Potter.”

Harry grinned.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Through the Veil, Again

A strange sort of tranquility often settled over Sirius. The panic was always there, in the shadows of his mind where nightmares bred with his foulest memories. The satanic spawn of that poisonous union howled with glee when trying to take him over, subjugating his thoughts and his will, and shattering his sense of self. He controlled it now, for the most part, although sometimes he felt that if he had to spend one moment more in complete isolation he’d start screaming until his throat bled. 

He was so tired of being alone. The solitude hadn’t gradually numbed his feelings like ice freezing his skin. No, it burned with a steady, dull, gray flame, eating away at his heart. It dripped acid onto his soul, peeling away layer upon layer of feeling. If only someone would touch him. If he could only hear another voice. A caress or a kick to the groin. It didn’t matter which one. A murmured endearment or a bellowed curse. Either one would do.

Sometimes his thoughts drifted in crazy kaleidoscopic patterns. Forms and faces hovered and melded into one another. Remus floated before him just out of reach, his lips forming silent words. And as Sirius strained to hear him, the face would transform into his father. A younger version, the father of his earliest days, his voice ringing with laughter. Sirius smiled, remembering those years when they had been happy with each other. But, as his hand reached out to touch the man who had once loved him so much, the handsome face would twist into rage and revulsion, the soundless words spewing forth with an unfelt spray of spittle. And Sirius despaired, knowing that he’d prefer his father’s shouted scorn to the cloak of silence that surrounded him. He’d rather be spat upon than feel nothing. 

He slumped motionless in the solitary chair and stared at his feet. Right now his entire existence had been stripped down to a pair of black boots against a colorless floor. He stared unblinking, seeing every single grain of the leather. He started counting each miniscule dot. Maybe that’s how the mind works, he pondered. Constantly trying to organize, sum up, arrange, put boundaries around whatever it observes in a delusional attempt to make sense out of whatever is presented to it. Even something as mundane as leather.

“It is time for you to return.”

It took a few seconds for him to realize he was not talking to himself. Almost unwillingly, he dragged his eyes away from his feet. Standing in front of him was the Guardian, the smooth face giving nothing away.

“It’s time?” He said uncertainly, trying the words on for size, seeing if they made any sense.

“Yes. I am here to escort you to the veil, where you will pass back into the living world.”

“I’m going back? Now?”

The Guardian beckoned with a raised arm and smiled. “Come.”

The colorless room vanished, replaced by darkness. Then a gentle wind blew, stirring his clothing and teasing strands of his hair. He felt a length of cloth brush over his face. 

The air was cool and, in a dizzying rush, his senses returned to him. He smelled the outdoors, earth and plants and the pungent tang of fallen leaves. He felt a light breeze against his skin and heard it whisper through the grass. A bird called in the distance. 

And, opening his eyes, he saw the evening sky stretched above him. The sun was already far below the horizon and its reflected light barely lingered, as the stars revealed themselves against the deep blue of the heavens.

Slowly Sirius sat up, not quite ready to believe that he was again on earth even though he felt the firm ground beneath him and the damp grass under his hands. He sat in the middle of a circle of stones, their rounded hulks crowning a hill. Cautiously he rose to his feet, fearful of losing this glorious sight, this breathtaking night. 

And, then he heard someone calling his name; an echo of the last voice he had heard after Bellatrix had sent him through the veil. He spun around. People ran towards him, and his knees nearly buckled when he realized who they were.


	6. Part 6

Patience Rewarded

Harry looked around warily. “Isn’t it weird that there’s no one here on Halloween?”

He had, against all odds, convinced Ron and Hermione to go enjoy the Halloween Party without him. They had put up a fuss about leaving him behind. When he insisted that they should enjoy their first real date together, they had both gone a frightening shade of scarlet, but eventually gave in to his wishes. 

And now, Harry stood outside a circle of large, ancient stones. Remus was nearby, his hands reverently placed against one of the stones. Occasionally he glanced upwards at the evening sky, picking out the few bright stars that could already be seen as the light faded. 

“Oh, yes, usually there are a number of people congregating at these old stone circles, but that’s the beauty of hiding a protective ward inside a Misdirection Charm,” Dumbledore smiled. “The ward keeps people out. And the charm makes them go off in another direction while they forget why they wanted to come here in the first place.”

Harry shook his head. “I don’t think I’ll ever know a thousandth of what you have in your brain.”

The old wizard chuckled. “I never stop learning, Harry. Actually, your mother was the one who came up with this particular combination. It’s quite effective.”

Harry shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket and thought about how much he still didn’t know about his parents. 

His reflections diminished and stilled under the pervasive influence of the stones of Castlerigg. Something radiated from the circle, an unseen but palpable aura of deep mystery and inscrutable power. The craggy stones pulled Harry closer, calling to him, willing him to hear their ancient message.

He felt puny and weak. His mind and heart were not strong enough or wise enough to comprehend the silent song of the stones. They shimmered in the failing light, glowing with a faint remnant of the sun. Power lived here, power older and deeper than any he’d ever sensed before. And, in its presence, the return of a man from the dead suddenly didn’t seem at all unusual.

Harry drew in several deep, calming breaths. In minutes, mere minutes, Sirius would be back. A fountain of longing and love sprang up in Harry’s heart, where pain and loss had lived for so long. He had kept a tight rein on his feelings, fearful of misunderstanding, misinterpreting what Dumbledore and Remus had told him. But, now, in this hallowed space, Harry believed. Sirius would return. 

He walked closer to the stones, inexplicably drawn towards the center. But Dumbledore’s gentle voice intruded. “No, Harry. Do not enter the circle.” Harry forced his unwilling feet to step back. And he waited, all his senses keyed up to note the slightest change in their surroundings.

Remus felt his heart would burst from his body as the minutes dragged on. The sky darkened and the light faded; the stars multiplied in the heavens, and Remus felt each second lasted an hour. Time had crept by all through his long, lonely summer. And now these last torturous moments seemed like a lifetime.

The night stilled, as if the entire universe held its breath. Then a strong breeze sprang up, sighing around the stones. Dumbledore gently gripped the shoulders of his companions, silently bidding them to stand still. He felt their taut muscles as they strained like dogs pulling against a leash, quivering for release.

Peering through the dusk, Remus thought he detected a shape standing at the very center of the circle, something that had not been there before. Columns. Two columns held up a lintel. A veil hung in the space between. He heard cloth fluttering in the breeze.

And then the wind stopped. The doorway vanished. In its place, a slender stone lay flat on the ground. There was no sound. No movement.

Unexpectedly, the horizontal stone sat upright. It slowly rose and proved not to be a stone at all, but a man. A tall man, long-limbed and rangy, whose head tilted in that oh, so familiar way when he considered something unexpected. Remus knew that form intimately. 

Then Dumbledore’s hand was gone from his shoulder and he took off, running as he hadn’t run in years and still it wasn’t fast enough to keep up with Harry. The boy’s feet hardly touched the ground as he flew towards the solitary figure, jubilantly shouting “Sirius!’

Sirius spun around, and his knees nearly buckled when he saw them. Harry cannoned into him and he staggered backwards, his arms filled with a gibbering, half-laughing, half-crying teenager. His own voice, husky from disuse, could do no more than croak, “Harry! Harry!’ His arms wrapped around his godson with a grip that threatened to turn Harry’s ribs into kindling.

Remus leaped at them scant seconds later, tilting their balance dangerously off vertical. They teetered in a tight huddle, like a band of drunken revelers supporting each other. Voices mixed in a chorus of elation and apology and “I missed yous.” Finally, they were reduced to babbling each other’s names over and over, their feet dancing a tottering two-step with the forces of gravity and momentum in a clumsy effort to stay upright.

Dumbledore floated several small globes of flame to illuminate the scene. Harry and Remus had identical expressions of love and relief on their faces. As did Sirius, but he also looked shocked to find himself in their arms; as if the solid flesh and bone of the two people he loved most was not quite enough to convince him he had returned.

Harry was the first to regain his equilibrium. With a knowing grin at Remus, he wriggled out of their little scrum, relinquishing his hold on Sirius. Remus smiled back and pulled Sirius into a tight embrace. Their bodies melded together in a fit so natural, so accustomed and so longed for, that neither thought twice about taking the next step. Eyes fluttering closed, their lips met in a deep, searching kiss. It was worth it, Sirius thought. It was worth suffering the abhorrence of his family. It was worth enduring an eternity of frozen, silent isolation, if this man was his reward. The support of these strong arms, the tenderness of the fingers running through his hair and the kiss, the ambrosial kiss of Remus’ wine-sweet mouth, was worth any price.

Staring avidly at the two men, Harry realized his kiss with Cho was strictly amateur level. He wondered what it felt like to drown in another person. It certainly looked enjoyable. With a moist smack, the two men finally broke the kiss, but their eyes and their bodies remained glued together until it suddenly registered in Sirius’ brain that they had shared that kiss in front of Harry. His eyes grew impossibly wide, like silvery Snitches, as he stared at Harry with a guilty mixture of shock and embarrassment. 

Harry burst out laughing. “It’s okay, Sirius. I know.”

“Know what?”

“You know.” Harry waved at them. “About you.”

“Me?”

“Both of you.”

“Us?”

“Yeah. And I think it’s great.”

“Oh.” Sirius still looked vaguely worried.

“You’ve lost none of your eloquence,” Remus teased.

“You told him?” Sirius asked of his lover.

“Yes.” He leaned close and kissed Sirius again. “Listen to him, Sirius. He’s happy for us.”

Sirius stared at Harry for several more seconds, and then a slow smile lit up his face, sloughing away years of care. In the flickering light of the fireballs, his wasted features regained some of their former beauty. 

Impulsively, Harry grabbed his godfather in another hug. “It really is okay, you know,” he said.

“Harry, this means so much to me,” Sirius murmured. “We wanted to tell you before, but there was too much-“

“I know. It’s okay.”

When they finally broke apart again, Dumbledore walked up to them. “Welcome back, my friend.” 

“Hello, Albus.” Sirius smiled, accepting the older man’s embrace. 

“I can’t recall an event that’s filled my heart with such delight and teased my mind with such an intriguing mystery as your return from beyond. But, then again, Sirius, you’ve always had an uncanny bent for the unexpected.” Dumbledore beamed. “You’ll have to tell us as much as you can.”

Sirius gave a one-shouldered shrug. “It’s getting fuzzy, like a very convoluted dream, but I’ll tell you everything I remember.”

Dumbledore glanced at his watch. “Not just yet. It’s almost time to return to Hogwarts.”

They walked out of the circle and Sirius eyed the old stones and peered through the darkness at the hills surrounding them. “Where are we?”

He wrapped his arms across Remus’ and Harry’s shoulders, tugging them close to his sides. He wasn’t quite sure if he wanted to shelter them or if he needed their protection.

Dumbledore answered his question. “This is the stone circle at Castlerigg. We’re near Keswick, in Cumbria.”

“Why did I come back through the veil here?”

“I don’t know. These sacred places hold many secrets. But it’s just as well you didn’t come back into the Department of Mysteries. We’d have had some trouble explaining why a fugitive mass murderer had popped up inside the Death Room.”

His place in the world hadn’t changed in his absence, Sirius thought, with some bitterness. He wondered how he’d be able to put to use whatever gifts he had if his life had to be spent on the run. But there was no more time for speculation as Dumbledore pulled the portkey from his pocket. 

~ **~** **~** ~ **~** ~ **~** ~

Sirius stood in the center of the Headmaster’s office. It looked just as he remembered it. He glanced over at the portrait of his great-great-grandfather. Phineas was motionless, but his glittering dark eyes shifted to look at Sirius. Bowing his head in acknowledgement Sirius said, “Thank you.” The portrait smiled slightly, one finely drawn brow twitched, and then Phineas’ features stilled into portrait immobility.

“Gentlemen, there are some rooms down the hall where Remus stays on his frequent visits to Hogwarts. Let’s go there,” Dumbledore suggested, “and I’ll request the house elves to scrounge up a meal for us.”

They walked out of the office. Dumbledore pressed on a small chunk of stone on the wall and a section of the wall moved back, revealing a corridor. He led them to a polished oak door and requested that Harry and Sirius rest their hands on the doorknob in turn, warding the lock to recognize both of them as it already recognized Remus.

Upon opening the door, they found themselves in a small flat done up in dark woods and rich, jewel-toned fabrics. Several ancient tapestries hung on the walls, with birds and animals flitting magically through a forest fantasia. The first room was a comfortable space that could do double duty as a study and dining area. Beyond that was a large, but still cozy, sitting room. A door at the end of that room led to a bedroom suite. Crackling fires in all three rooms and the glow of many candles welcomed them.

“Would you mind if I took a shower and shaved while we’re waiting for the food?” Sirius seemed almost embarrassed to ask. The others murmured their assent and Remus whisked him off towards the bathroom, talking about soap and fresh towels and clean clothes.

In a few minutes, Remus returned, a frown line between his brows.

“Is he okay?” Harry asked.

“I think he needs a few minutes to himself. He’s somewhat in awe of what’s happened to him.”

“Perfectly understandable, I imagine.” Dumbledore was the essence of quite calm. “He has no signposts, no map to show him the vastness of this experience. He has nothing with which to compare it and no one he can go to who has made this same journey. He is alone.”

“Again,” Remus muttered.

Sirius rejoined them shortly, wearing a pair of faded blue jeans and a dark blue sweater. His raised brow brought a shrug from Remus. “I brought your clothes here from Grimmauld Place. Molly thought I packed them up to give to charity. She wanted to clean out your room, but seemed to think it more therapeutic if I did it.”

“She can strip that room down to the bare floorboards, if she wants. Actually, I wouldn’t object if she wanted to burn down the entire house, although,” Sirius frowned at Dumbledore, “I suppose the Order still needs it.”

“Yes, we do, but you need not set foot in it. You may stay hidden here.” The compassion on the Headmaster’s face was unmistakable. “I’m sorry, Sirius. I didn’t realize how heavy a burden I placed on you. It was a terrible mistake to assume that prison cells are always small rooms with Dementors standing guard. I failed to recognize that by ordering you to remain hidden in that house I had sentenced you to a different kind of jail, but one no more forgiving than Azkaban.”

“It’s not your fault. What happened is no one’s fault but mine. I should have been able to handle it better than I did. It was my decision to go to the Ministry after Harry and his friends that night, in spite of the arguments of cooler and more rational heads.” Sirius smiled ruefully at Remus. 

Harry felt a sharp twinge of guilt. His actions had led Sirius to the Department of Mysteries. But, before he had a chance to open his mouth two elves appeared carrying large trays laden with food. The delicious sights and aromas of roast beef, gravy, buttery carrots, mashed potatoes, freshly baked rolls and other tasty morsels broke the somber mood that had settled on them. By some sort of unspoken agreement, all four of them turned away from their assessments of blame, and concentrated on their meals. 

Suddenly realizing that he was ravenous, Harry piled his plate with hefty helpings, which he managed to attack quite handily when he wasn’t answering Sirius’ questions about school and Occlumency. The latter subject led Remus and Albus into a detailed discussion of mind entrapment and penetration that was much too esoteric for Harry. Sirius, too, dropped out of the conversation, as if it required too much effort.

Harry found he couldn’t stop staring at Sirius, to the point where his fork occasionally missed his mouth. Part of his mind still reeled at accepting that his godfather had returned and he feared seeing Sirius disappear in a puff of smoke. The other part of his mind cataloged impressions. Sirius looked exactly the same, right down to the length his hair. He hadn’t gained or lost any weight. The same intensity burned in his eyes, which returned to Harry’s face again and again, as if to memorize even the smallest detail of his features. Remus, too, Harry noted, was the recipient of that penetrating glance. The diamond bright eyes held some unspoken emotion whenever they rested on Remus’ face, drawing an answering spark from the jeweled tones of Remus’ hazel orbs. Harry couldn’t understand how he’d been so blind as to never notice the looks that passed between the two men.

After his initial hunger was satisfied, a thought struck Harry. “Sirius, what kind of food did you eat while you were…umm…away?”

Sirius had helped himself to only modest portions of Hogwarts’ bounty. He got a far- away look as he pondered the question, pushing an errant carrot around on his plate. “I didn’t.”

“You haven’t eaten in over four months?”

The distant expression lingered on the lean face. “No. I didn’t eat or drink. I didn’t shave. I didn’t bathe or change clothes. I didn’t sleep. I just…existed.”

He suddenly shook himself, snapping out of the memory.

Dumbledore’s grave tones broke in. “Would you rather not tell us about it, Sirius?”

“No, I don’t mind telling you, but it’s hazy,” Sirius replied with some confusion, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not sure anymore what really happened and what took place only in my mind. It’s all so unbelievable.”

Sirius found he remembered some things quite clearly while others had faded, consisting now of only vague impressions. He remembered sitting in a room with a lot of other souls, but he couldn’t recall why. He remembered being in the midst of his ancestors. 

Sirius carefully placed his fork down, ignoring his half-eaten food. “My family was there. Generations of them. A whole crowd of people, most of whom were just like my parents. It was horrible.”

Many of the savage insults and degrading sneers of his family still lingered, but he glossed over that, not wanting to dwell on the feelings they had re-awoken in him. Remus sensed the unspoken pain beneath his lover’s carefully chosen words, the still open wound of a teenaged boy’s emotional abandonment by his family. 

Sirius stared into middle distance somewhere between Albus and Harry, obviously seeing in his mind’s eye whatever he had experienced on the other side of the veil. Then slowly, all expression left his face and his eyes shuttered, turning dull as slate. His voice fell into a lifeless monotone that faded away like smoke. “Afterwards I waited in a room. I couldn’t be sent back until Halloween. So, I waited. Alone. Alone in a room, a tiny room no bigger than a cell, like Azkaban…”

His eyes closed and the only sound was the crackling of the fire. Harry thought that if Sirius’ hands clenched any tighter, his fingers would impale themselves in his palms. 

And, though he remained impassive, what he felt was mirrored in the torment on Remus’ face. Anxiously, Remus reached forward to grasp his lover’s wrist. “Sirius, it’s alright. You can-“

But, Sirius shook his head forcefully, yanking his arm away, his hand raised in a gesture to ward them off. After several long moments, he drew in a deep breath and sighed. The tension left his body and he seemed to come back to them, to the warmth and comfort of the room and their presence.

“Sorry. It’s still a little too much to deal with.”

“You don’t have to say anymore if-“

“No, no. I’m okay. Really.”

Remus looked doubtful. But Sirius settled on less disturbing topics and his voice once more became firm and clear. He tried to explain the unsettling sense of being unable to measure the passage of time. He talked about the Judge and the requirements of Cognatus Putus, filling in the gaps of their knowledge.

Finally, Sirius told them of the requirements of the pact. “I had to take a vow. My dear mother demanded that I marry a pureblood woman and have children.” With wry amusement he saw the surprise on their faces and he hastened to reassure them.

“I was allowed to propose my own vow. I promised to bind myself to a pure-hearted person, for this life and life after death.”

Remus smiled. “You realize I expect that person to be me.”

“I do.”

“Good. Remember that phase.”

Sirius reached out to grasp Remus’ hand in his own. “And the final condition is that my natural life span is cut in half.”

“What!?“ Harry squawked. “You’ve been given your life back just so half of it can be taken away again?”

Sirius hadn’t taken his eyes off of Remus’ face. “I’ve been granted an immeasurable gift, Harry.” 

Harry didn’t understand why Remus and Sirius were smiling in such a tender way at each other. His eyes still locked with Sirius’, Remus nodded slowly, as if in answer to an unspoken question. “You see this as a reward and not a punishment.”

Sirius smile broadened in answer.

“Allow me, Harry,” Albus interjected. “Sirius will now live until his seventies. The scientific literature tells us that werewolves generally do not live much beyond seventy due to the stresses their bodies suffer because of the transformations. Wolfsbane Potion helps the werewolf mind remain more human, but it does not alleviate the physical hardships of the monthly bodily change, so in all probability, it will not lengthen Remus’ life.”

Understanding dawned on Harry’s face. “So, whichever of you goes first, it won’t be long until the other one follows.”

Sirius finally turned towards him, eyes gleaming with unshed tears. “That’s it, Harry. We’ve spent so much of our lives apart that the thought that death may separate us for only a few years is a comfort.”

“But, with Voldemort and the Death Eaters coming back…” Harry didn’t finish the disquieting thought.

“That’s the great unknown for all of us right now,” Dumbledore said.

Sirius slumped back in his chair, weary to the marrow of his bones. And it was obvious to the others.

Dumbledore rose. “You look exhausted, Sirius. Harry and I will leave now and let you get a good, long sleep. Tomorrow we’ll talk about a task you can do for the Order. It requires some very advanced magic, but I’m sure you have the ability to handle it.”

In spite of his fatigue, curiosity flared in Sirius’ face. Dumbledore stopped his questions before they started. “Tomorrow,” he said in a voice that brooked no discussion.

Sirius walked them to the door. He grinned at Harry. “I know tomorrow is Wednesday and you have classes, but I still expect you to show up here at some point.”

The thought that he could finally spend time with Sirius made Harry almost giddy. “I will. I have a free period right after lunch.”

“Good. And, a word to the wise,” Sirius warned with a wink. “You should never barge into the bedroom if the door is shut.” 

“Oh. Right. Sure. No. Of course not.” Harry felt the flush crawl up his face, much to his annoyance and Sirius’ amusement. But, then his godfather’s smile faded. He gently gripped Harry’s shoulders. “I love you, Harry.”

“I know. I love you, too.” Harry flung his arms around Sirius. They held onto each other for a long time.

“See you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight.”


	7. Part 7

Washed Clean

Remus neatly stacked the dishes and tidied up the room to make the elves’ job easier. He’d chased Sirius off, refusing to let him help. Frankly, Remus was surprised his lover was still standing when it was obvious that his entire body trembled due to the exhaustion strumming along his muscles.

He entered the bedroom just in time to see a long line of naked skin vanish under the rich burgundy bedspread, accompanied by the half-moan, half-sigh that he’d only hear when Sirius was at the limits of his strength. Smiling slightly, Remus noticed other prosaic images, signs of the presence of his lover that somehow warmed the room and chased away the loneliness; the pile of discarded clothes tossed on a chair and the lingering minty scent of toothpaste in the air. 

His heart swelled to bursting with love and longing. Remus gulped hard, surprised at this sudden surge in his emotions. He hurried into the bathroom to stifle the tears that threatened him. It would only distress Sirius to see him crying. And all Remus wanted to do was join his lover in bed, flesh to flesh, limbs entangled in the reassuring closeness that both of them needed so badly. With meticulous precision, Remus undressed and folded his clothing, still trying to swallow the lump in his throat.

He reached for the tube of toothpaste. The top was askew, like a hat tilted at a jaunty angle. And that mundane sight, that fingertip-sized bit of evidence of Sirius’ return, made something break inside. The heavy chains that had wrapped around his heart shattered like glass and a flood of emotion split him open. The tears he had stifled for so long poured out of him.

Remus gripped the edge of the sink, silent sobs shaking his frame. They pressed out of him, wringing the air from his lungs until there was nothing left. He couldn’t control the great, gasping breaths he took, no matter how he tried. He wanted to be silent, to not disturb Sirius, to not wake him if he’d already fallen asleep. 

Strong arms slid around him. Startled, he pulled away, only to hear, “Shhh, it’s alright, Re.” 

The arms gathered him close and he leaned his head against a smooth shoulder and surrendered to the wracking sobs he’d smothered for months. He clung to Sirius, clutched him tight. He’d never let him go. Never again. The pain of losing him could not be borne. 

Battered by the violence of his tears, Remus was conscious of only the feel of Sirius’ body and the sweet murmur of his voice in counterpoint to the cries ripping from his own body. It wasn’t until the storm passed that he realized where he was; secure in Sirius’ arms, settled in the spacious bed, propped up against a small mountain of pillows. Long fingers soothingly stroked his hair. Remus finally stirred, aware that his face and Sirius’ shoulder and chest were streaked with tears.

“We’re a mess. I’m sorry.”

“Shush. There’s no need to apologize,” Sirius whispered. He placed a gentle kiss on Remus’ forehead. “Lay still, love. I’ll be right back.”

He slipped off the bed and headed into the bathroom, his skin burnished by the firelight.

Although physically and emotionally spent, Remus felt a calm at the core of his being that hadn’t been there in months. He floated in a comfortable limbo until a warm, damp cloth pressed against his face, wiping away all traces of his tears. A plush towel dried him. The tender ministrations were so reminiscent of how Sirius used to tend to him after particularly bad transformations that, for a moment, he felt they were barely twenty years old. 

Remus opened his eyes and smiled at the man hovering above him. “You’re still so good to me. Forgive me for drenching you?”

Sirius flung the wet washcloth in the general direction of the bathroom. They heard a solid ‘thwap’ as it hit the tiled floor. He let the towel fall as he climbed back into bed. Sirius pulled Remus close. “It’s not the first time I’ve been covered with your bodily fluids.” His mouth closed over Remus’ in a slow, sweet kiss. “I don’t mind at all.”

Remus kissed him back. “I love you. I’ll still love you even if I step on that soggy, cold washcloth in the middle of the night.”

“There’s one foolproof way of avoiding that fate.”

“You’ll stop throwing things on the floor?”

“No. You won’t leave this bed. Not until at least noon tomorrow.”

~ **~** ~ **~** ~ **~** ~

Surprisingly, Remus woke several times during the night. The emotional exhaustion of the previous evening didn’t translate into unbroken sleep, even when he had drifted off blissfully cocooned in the warm embrace of his lover. Maybe his wakefulness was some sort of defense mechanism. Perhaps his subconscious needed constant reassurance that Sirius was not going to disappear in the middle of the night.

The first time Remus woke he felt disoriented. But the sound of the slow, deep, even breathing of the man sleeping next to him brought everything back. He choked back a whimper of relief. Quietly, slowly, he slid up against Sirius, resting his palm against that warm, soft spot on his neck beneath which a pulse beat, strong and firm.

Later, Remus woke again, this time aware of his precise location inside Hogwarts, in comfortable rooms, in a gloriously large bed. And he was fully conscious of who shared his bed. Remus settled back against the body spooned up behind him. He dozed off, securely locked in the arm that had reflexively tightened around him.

And finally, he woke at sunrise, alert to the play of shadow and light across the planes of Sirius’ face. As their room brightened, the thin features, relaxed in sleep, came into clearer focus. No museum in the world owned a masterpiece with a face as alluring as the one he watched, drinking in every remembered detail. The shadow of ebony eyelashes, spread like tiny, delicate fans. The welcoming soft pillows of perfectly formed lips, so ideal for kissing. The small wrinkles that highlighted the corners of the closed eyes and bracketed the sensuous mouth. They were marks of experience and a life lived hard. Not imperfections, but badges of strength, testaments to courage writ in flesh.

Remus drew a forefinger along those lines in a touch soft as a spring breeze. He explored, wanting only to rediscover, not awaken. But, despite his gentleness, the startling pale eyes fluttered open and a lopsided smile appeared. And once again, as had happened countless times in his life, that face took his breath away.

“It’s early, my love,” Remus whispered. “Go back to sleep.”

“Nuh-unh.” A raspy mumble. “I’d rather lie here and look at you looking at me.”

For long moments, that was all they did. The nervous anxiety that had held Sirius fast in its grip melted away like early morning haze. He was back where he so longed to be. Almost casually, he raised his hand and laid it like a benediction against Remus’ cheek. The hazel eyes closed and Remus leaned into the hand, slowly rubbing against the warm palm. The pad of a thumb ran back and forth across his lips.

The hand moved, sliding into silver-streaked hair, long fingers curling around the back of his head, pulling him close. Remus gave no resistance and instead, eyes and lips barely parted, he slipped into Sirius’ arms. With an insistent push, he rolled them over until he lay on top of his lover. Their bodies felt good together, hard and soft in all the expected places. Remus couldn’t help grinning right before he claimed the willing mouth that panted for his kiss. 

It was just as Remus remembered. He felt Sirius. He tasted Sirius. The slopes and curves and angles of their bodies fit as they always had. Remus felt blessed that the greatest desire of his heart was reunited with him. The piercing emptiness he’d lived with was filled. It was enough, for the moment, to reacquaint himself with Sirius’ mouth, which surrendered to his tender assault. Remus’ tongue dipped between the parted lips to tempt and tease its mate to come out and play.

Sirius’ arms tightened around his lover to mold their bodies together. Touch. How he’d hungered for touch when trapped in his barren room. And now the heaven that was Remus’ body nearly overwhelmed him. The ripple of muscle under sleek skin, scarred or smooth, released him from the deadened limbo in which he’d existed for months. It was over. In this moment, together with his lover, Sirius felt something he hadn’t felt in years, that he’d finally come home.

The exquisite touch of Sirius’ hands on his body made Remus shiver. They slid over his back to tangle in his hair. They played his spine and grasped the firm mounds of his buttocks. It was getting difficult to breathe, with their lips sealed together and two tongues in his mouth.

Remus turned his head, shifted his position atop Sirius. He kissed his way along the strong jaw and nipped a velvet earlobe. His oral travels continued down the column of Sirius’ neck to the graceful curve where it flowed into his shoulder. Remus alternated his kisses with insistent, sucking nibbles, paying special attention to this spot until he got what he wanted, until he heard the growly purrs of pleasure sighing through Sirius’ lips. 

Black hair spread like night against the pillow as Sirius moved beneath Remus, rubbing their bodies together. He craved sensation, begged for touch, and hungered to feel Remus. His hands, his flesh, his hair, his cock, his mouth. Sirius wanted everything. And that would finally convince him that his life had truly been given back to him. A wave of sensation rippled down from his shoulders to his hips. The long legs spread, bowed upwards, gripped Remus between strong thighs.

Humming with arousal, Remus’ kisses grew stronger, harder, demanding, as his mouth traveled the familiar map of Sirius’ body. One of his hands clenched a fistful of black hair while the other slipped between their bodies to fasten around the warm, heavy weight of Sirius’ cock. The slim hips responded, bucking up into him. Sirius’ grip tightened. Legs, arms, hands pulled Remus close, as if to force their two bodies to become one. 

More, more, more. Sirius’ every nerve tingled and twitched for stimulation. Weight, heat, pressure. Warm friction of skin on skin. Fingers teasing and caressing. Teeth nibbling. Lips savoring. He yearned to feel all of it everywhere. Remus’ fingers danced along his body. They drew patterns on his flesh, painting with a palette of touch. They crinkled through the fine, dark chest hair like the drift of a warm breeze. They sculpted the form of his muscles and bones. Playful and tender. Demanding and giving. Those strong, knowing, beloved hands guided Sirius out of the shadows of loneliness and back into the brilliant dawn of a second life.

Remus rose and crouched over Sirius, only to sink slowly down until the long, hard length of his lover filled him with its smooth heat. The limber muscles of his thighs raised and lowered his body, working the slick cock, filling himself to bursting with its glorious heft. The tempo of his sinuous movements was matched by Sirius’ warm, teasing hand wrapped around his own cock. The possessive fist squeezed and pulled. It slid up, its thumb spiraling around the leaking head. And down, the friction of palm and fingers driving the twisting, trembling heat in Remus’ groin out to the very extremities of his body.

Their blood turned to liquid fire and roared through their veins, lighting them from within with the fierce blaze of their desire. Moaning incoherently, Sirius flexed up to meet Remus thrust for thrust. Feeling the final rush towards climax, he hauled Remus’ head down for a deep, searing kiss. Their bodies lurched together in one last, clenching plunge and they cried their release into each other’s mouth.

Panting, they collapsed together. The warm stickiness of semen that had sprayed across Sirius’ belly now coated them both. Once they regained their breath, Remus noted ruefully. “I seem to have created another mess.”

“At the risk of sounding repetitive, it’s not the first time I’ve been covered with your bodily fluids. And I still don’t mind.”

Remus’ smile still crinkled his eyes in the most alluring way, Sirius was happy to see. Impulsively, he grabbed his lover and pulled him into a tight, lingering embrace. Remus was too close to see the radiant smile that lit up Sirius’ face, but he knew it was there. He snaked his arms around his lover and kissed his neck. “Welcome home, beloved.”

Sirius had taken the final steps back into the living world, here in this bed, with the keeper of his heart.

~ **~** ~ **~** ~ **~** ~ **~** ~

The crisp, clear weather of Halloween had dissolved into gray, sodden showers. Raindrops splattered against the windows, driven by a raw, harsh wind. Sirius sat still, feet pointed at the fire, and listened to the rain, the crackling wood and the scratch of Remus’ quill against parchment. He thought about Harry’s visit, where the most important thing they discussed was Quidditch. He looked forward to similar visits, although he knew that they would inevitably talk about much more dire subjects. But the memory of today’s visit, curled up in the warmth and comfort of his rooms, would stay with Sirius a long time. Caught in the grip of an unaccustomed emotion, it took him a while to recognize it. He was happy.

A sharp rap on the door announced a visitor. Before either man could move, Albus Dumbledore entered. The three men exchanged greetings and then the Headmaster sank with a weary sigh into one of the large, cushioned chairs. He noted how keenly Sirius watched him and knew the black-haired wizard expected to hear about Albus’ plan.

“Sirius, how difficult was it for you to learn the Animagus transformation?”

Sirius thought about the long, tedious process he had embarked on with James, Peter and Remus so many years ago. “The greatest difficulties were getting our hands on the information we needed and then scrounging for the ingredients required for the potion. It took a while to piece together the process, since we needed books from the Restricted Section of the Library. Once we thought we understood the theory, we still needed to get some rather esoteric ingredients.”

“Yes,” Dumbledore mused, “some of those are not commonly available due to their potential misuse in dark magic. If I may ask, how did you manage to obtain them?”

Sirius snorted with disbelief. “From my parents, of course! My mother had all sorts of vials and bottles filled with questionable, if not downright illegal, substances. I simply had to be careful not to get caught filching the stuff, and not to steal a noticeable amount at any one time.”

“Determined lad, weren’t you?” Dumbledore muttered. “I understand the potion can have some temporary, but nasty, side effects. What happened when you brewed and drank the potion?”

Sirius groaned at the memory. “I was violently ill for five days.”

Remus nodded. “What a nerve-wracking night that was! I was convinced they had poisoned themselves. All three of them got sick. But, Sirius was the worst. He got horribly dizzy about two hours after swallowing the potion. It dropped him like an ax felling a tree.”

“That was the first night you ever peeled my clothes off. Too bad I was too sick to enjoy it.”

“Sirius! We weren’t…We hadn’t…we were just friends!”

“Hmmmm.” Sirius replied noncommittally. Remus glared threateningly, but wasn’t entirely successful. 

Dumbledore rescued him. “You had other symptoms?”

“Fever, dizziness, aches, vomiting. It hurt to move. When Remus tried to get me to Hospital that Monday morning, I passed out from the pain.”

“What about the actual transfiguration? How difficult was it?”

“Dealing with the potion was the hard part for me. I do remember, though, that the effort of saying the incantations correctly while concentrating on the mental aspects of transfiguration required some practice, especially since we didn’t know what animal we would become.”

Remus interjected, “Yes, but you did it quickly. You became Padfoot the first night you tried. It took James several days and Peter several weeks to find their animal forms.”

“You’ve never had trouble switching back and forth?” Dumbledore asked. “Never felt that you were stuck in one form or the other? Never lost your sense of being Sirius, even when you were Padfoot?”

Sirius shook his head. “Never. Once I made that first transformation, it was as easy as breathing. I never had a problem. Not even in Azkaban.”

Dumbledore sat back in his chair, a satisfied smile on his face. Remus also looked pleased. Sirius glanced from one to the other. “Well?”

“The Order needs skilled wizards like you, Sirius. But, right now, you can’t help us to the best of your abilities if you’re forced to remain in hiding. If we could capture Pettigrew, we could prove your innocence and set you free. Of course, that would mean you’d be free to put yourself in danger, but I know you feel trapped and useless at not being able to more actively contribute to our cause.”

“All true, but what does this have to do with being an Animagus?”

“The Death Eaters think you’re dead. Even so, a number of them would still recognize Padfoot if he were to be seen. Certainly Pettigrew would. But, that doesn’t mean that they’d mistrust every animal that comes their way. I think it quite possible that Peter Pettigrew could be discovered by the spying of other animals.”

The old Headmaster looked hard at Sirius, a conspiratorial gleam in his eyes. “Do you think you have the magical strength to become a Polyanimagus, to be able to transform into any animal at will?”

The face Remus had seen in his imagination when Dumbledore first proposed this plan months ago now shone before him. Sirius was indeed salivating at the thought. For Sirius, the possibility was breathtaking. He could attempt powerful magic. And then he could apply that to a task which, if done successfully, would give him his freedom and bring a murderer to justice. He could openly take his proper place in Harry’s life and carry his share of the burden faced by the Order. Sirius looked long at Remus, silently asking if his lover realized that to go forward would ultimately lead to danger and possibly death. 

Sirius suddenly looked ten years younger, Remus thought. He’d finally been given a chance to do something to manage and control his own life. Surely, he was owed that. And, just as surely, he owed the powers that had returned him to life to use that life and the talents with which he’d been blessed. Remus would never deny him this. They were all in danger, but evil was easier fought head-on than by standing on the sidelines.

Remus rose and walked over to Sirius. He held out his hands, and when Sirius grasped them, he pulled his lover to his feet. Neither man said a word, but both knew what the other was thinking. Finally Remus leaned forward to kiss this battered, beautiful man who held Remus’ heart in his hands.

“Well, Sirius, do you want to plan a midnight raid to the Restricted Section to find what we need, or do you trust me to do your research for you?”

Sirius’ grin was all the answer he needed.

END


End file.
